The Palace of Caged Birds: The Concubine's Story
by sonotfastfood
Summary: No one knows who the Concubine was, but this story is an imagining of how she came to be who she is. Trace the story of the Concubine through the Palace of Caged Birds to being one of Ahriman's Corrupted. First in a possible series.
1. A Flower is Plucked

"Why must I go?" said the girl, watching in the mirror of polished bronze as her mother brushes her waist-length black hair. Her mother's face tightens, but she says nothing and instead brushes another tress to its tip. The girl does not ask again, but her pale hands play across the inlaid wood of the dressing table. Her fingers pass over her ivory jewellery boxes and a pallet of rouges and lip colourings.

"Pass me those hair clips." Her mother's voice rasps with suppressed emotion. The girl picks up a silver tray of earrings and hair clips, and her mother selects two of filigree gold shaped like doves. She pulls the two sheaves of hair to the back of the girl's head, and places a clip on either side so that an inky waterfall flows over the girl's back "Now the ribbon." A long silk ribbon is solemnly passed to her by one of the servants, and the waterfall is reduced to a river, bounded by the red silk, ended with a simple but beautiful knot.

The girl shifts herself to face her mother, and cosmetics are applied to enhance her young face. Black kohl frames her eyes and aquamarine and viridian paints made from crushed lapis and copper oxide is applied to her lids and forehead. Cinnabar powder is dusted on her cheeks to hide her pale skin, and her delicate pink mouth is transformed into a deep and sensual scarlet with ochre and rosewater.

The girl stands, looking as if she does not want to damage the new mask that she inhabits. Servants move forward and she is dressed, the clothes moved and folded around her, careful not to damage anything of the construction that has just taken place. The girl complies with the dressing fluidly; left arm up so that a fold of her gown can be adjusted, one foot and then the other raised so that slippers can be put on her feet, tilting her head so that a gold necklace can be put on with ease. It is done. The girl stands in her room in her finery, looking at her mother as the servants begin to pack her other clothes into their chests.

"Why must I go?"

"Duty."

Duty. For such a small word it describes so much. For her father it means protecting her family, loving his children, swearing loyalty to the king and obeying the gods. For her mother it means honouring her father, keeping their house and avoiding scandal at court. And for her, it means serving her king by giving up her freedom, her future and her family. She knows that great honour is attached to having been chosen; but doesn't she deserve to be attached to her family? What honour is worth such pain, such cruelty? Why should she, a child, be made to become merely a painted shell dressed in silks and jewellery? What is her purpose?

But she says none of this aloud. Her mother stands back as a servant opens the door into the loggia that runs around the courtyard of their house. Sweet smelling climbing plants stretch out their tendrils to the noonday sun, and the new buds of their flowers are swelling and ready to open. She won't see the flowers in her own home again. Down in the paved courtyard where tiles make a geometric pattern, the courtyard where she used to play with her kitten making it chase a little ball decorated with bells. The kitten, now a cat, appears from behind a pillar and sidles up to her. She wants to pick it up and bury her face in her fur; forget what she's about to do and where she's about to go. This warm creature is the only thing left from her childhood and there's nothing in between that and the crushing womanhood that's only a palanquin ride away.

But she can't pick it up; she only stoops and strokes its head. Its eyes narrow into slits and it purrs deep in its throat. It tries to nuzzle her leg, but she steps away from it so that no stray hairs attach to her dress. "Goodbye," she says, trying to pour out all her sorrow in that one word. For her new life she will have to remove emotion and create a façade; she knows that much. The cat looks at her with large green eyes, and then pads into the room that she just left. Down the steps with careful, measured steps and into the courtyard itself. The servants that aren't packing upstairs are here, lined in rows to bid her goodbye. She doesn't look at a single one of them; all she can see is the doors ahead that open onto the street, and the palanquin that is waiting outside.

She turns around and bows to her mother, who bows in turn.

"Farewell Mother."

"Farewell my daughter. Gods keep you safe." The woman who is letting her go has regained her composure, and looks past her daughter out of the door. The girl turns around and sees the figure of her father in the sun outside in the street. She walks through the doorway, past the doors she has entered and left by a thousand times. This will be the last time to leave. Father and daughter face each other in the street, as the palanquin bearers pull back the curtains.

"Are you prepared, daughter?"

"I am ready. We are to go there now?"

Her father nods and stoops to get into the palanquin. She turns back to the house and looks up at an upstairs window to see the cat sitting on the sill. Her mother appears and leans out to look at her for one last time. She gazes up for one last time, then follows her father and kneels to recline against the cushions across from him. She steadies herself as the bearers raise the palanquin off the ground and begin to move down the street. The noises of the city swell and roar around them as they leave the quiet street and reach the markets. The sounds are familiar, yet muffled through the swathes of fabric. Dogs barking, caged birds singing and the shouts of the market traders. The skipping feet of the market urchins running out of the way of the palanquin and the armour of the city guards clanking as a patrol makes its way through the stalls and booths.

"Asha…"

She looks at him. She practices the composure of the women she has heard of, and how she has imagined they gaze at the men who visit them. She looks at him with a slightly sultry stare, thinking of how her cat watches her when she writes poetry or paints. Wrote poetry. Painted. He didn't seem to notice; he was too busy needing to explain himself to notice what she was doing.

"You know that I do not give you away lightly. It is a real honour to have been chosen for the Palace of Caged Birds. So many families would give so much to be in our place."

But their daughters are breathing a sigh of relief, she thought silently. Another year before the harem inspectors would start sending letters to the patriarchs of all the highest families of the land, demanding their daughters for inspection. Only three girls a year could be chosen, but often only one or two were; sometimes no daughters went to the Palace. What was offered was considered a fair exchange for what was given – a family gained power and status by having a child in the Palace, and if the King was taken enough with a girl to promote her to the Chamber of Earthly Delights and possibly even to being his Queen. Whether a girl's star rose or fell was down to her attributes and accomplishment, her attention to ritual and tradition and her ability to provide witty conversation and other diverting activities.

"You are one of two chosen this year. You are one of the most prized flowers in the kingdom and you have been selected by the gardeners and propagators of perfect human beauty. Be happy in that knowledge!"

I would not have been selected if I was stupid enough to be happy that I was told I was pretty, she thought. But she replied "I am happy father. I am pleased to bring further honours to our family and I wish to please the King when I see him and when I live in the Palace of Caged Birds. I am perfectly satisfied."

Her father looked at her sadly "You are younger than most girls, I know. But the best flowers are the most tender when they are plucked young. And of course you will have one of the finest educations possible; in art and music and in dance…and in various other areas, I am sure."

And those are the areas that terrify me.

The sounds outside had changed while they had talked. Rather than clamouring voices and the sounds of camels and horses in the streets, birdsong and running water was all that could be heard. Some music could also be heard – delicate strains on a mandolin and soft drumbeats.

"I think we're here," said her father, drawing back the curtains to reveal the marble arches and latticed windows of the Royal Palace. Asha stifled a tremor of real fear. "Come, let us go and meet your new family."

Not my family. My owners. It seems nothing changes.


	2. The Bird steps into her Cage

"And so she comes to us."

Asha looks up from where she is kneeling, to stare at the feet of the King. Gold slippers on his feet, a deep, sonorous voice – the right kind of voice for a king, she thought. A commanding voice. Hearing this voice, it's not difficult to imagine the thousands of people who sing praises in his name. Her father moves to adjust his robe as he sits on the cushion. Men sit, women kneel, she remembered from her lessons.

"The other arrived from Azgabarah two days ago. I am sure that they will be close companions. So different though! I can see that immediately. Sit up, girl."

Asha slowly rises to meet the eyes of the king, then drops them to look at his slippers again as a mark of respect. She has seen enough. A curly beard over a torso that is still tightly muscled – this is evident from the neck of his robe that is open to just below his breastbone. He is perhaps forty years old, a few years older than her father. A handsome man, with large dark eyes and thick hair underneath a tall, jewelled turban. She can almost hear him appraising her fully.

"Yes the other is very different. She is a desert bloom, but you can see the spikes in the dark pools of her eyes. That one is very spirited. Yours is different – a year or two younger I fancy, she's more like a fruit – softer and more predictable perhaps."

Asha blazes with this man's summation of who she is. She notices her father shifting nervously; wondering whether this is an indication of the king's displeasure. Her status as a Caged Bird is by no means secure – she could still be sent home with the scent of disgrace hanging about her.

"But very welcome all the same. And you may be sure that she will be well looked after and given the best education possible in all areas of court life."

"I realise and thank you Sire."

"Thank you Lord Yahdz. You and your daughter may retire for your farewells."

Asha and her father retreat backwards, bowing all the while until the curtains that separate the throne chamber from the rest of the Great Hall fall aside, hiding the King once again. Aids usher them into an antechamber decorated in ivory and precious woods. Incense burns next to a water jug and goblets. Her father pours water for them both, putting the expensive ice in carefully with serrated tongs. He hands it to her as she sits carefully on a stool, and watches as she sips.

"This is our last minute together."

"Yes."

"I know that this cannot be easy for you. But it is your –"

"Duty. I know."

He gives a short, sharp laugh, and puts a hand to her cheek. It's still cold from the bucket of ice and the tongs. He leaves it there a moment too long, and a tear spills over and trickles down her face, muddying the powder that lies there. He wipes this away and leaves a scar of wet powder across her cheek.

"This is not easy for you. And it's not easy for us either."

Liar, she thinks. But she doesn't believe herself. She can see his heart breaking as loudly as hers is in his eyes.

"You will have many of your things with you. And letters can be written, and that is a blessing. We will write to you and you can write back to us. Remember that you have been chosen, and that your beauty is prized not only by your mother and I, but by the highest in the land."

"Should that satisfy me? Knowing that my beauty is the only thing that has brought me to the palace? Why can't I make my way to the palace in some other way?"

Her father looks puzzled "What other way is there for women? I don't understand what you mean. These are our last moments together, let us spend them better than this."

"Yes."

"Tell me what you feel. It is not often men ask women to be honest, and certainly you will not be asked to be so in the future."

Another tear rolls down her cheek, and this time he leaves it, accepting her unhappiness. It would speak more than she could, but she would try anyway.

"I feel betrayed. I feel lost. I feel disconnected. I feel robbed. This is everything that I feel. Yet I still feel love; for you and mother, and for the King and the gods and their laws. I know that my duty is to be above my feelings, but I can't separate how I feel and what I have been promised for."

He kisses her hand fiercely then. "This is what I expected. You are so sensitive and beautifully intelligent. The king is wrong about you. You are no fruit, flawless as you are. You are indeed a caged bird, and I am sorry for this."

More tears spill over then "I love you both so much! I would tear down this palace for you both!"

"Hush. We love you with all our hearts. When it was announced that you were chosen; that was both the best day and the worst of our lives. Knowing the honour that attaches now to us is to be bought with you leaves the most bitter-sweet taste in our mouths."

She wishes that he could draw her to him and take her back to her house and her cat and everything familiar. But instead he stoops for a kiss, and she does so lightly on his cheek near his ear. It leaves a faint red outline which is masked by the sweep of his long black hair as he stands back up.

"You cannot make us any more proud than we are. We will love you forever. Maybe one day you will return home to us."

She is grateful for his false promise. She knows it is impossibility, and that there is every chance that they may never speak again, but just to hear the idea of home lights a candle of love in her heart. On cue, an aide came into the room. Her father at once retained the lordly bearing that he had been trained in from birth. He bowed to her, gave her one longing glance and left. The aide watched him go, and then a secret door in the wall opened behind her. Asha freezes – she does not like the idea of someone else listening to her and her father's conversation. In the doorway is a little fat man who watches her as a snake watches a mouse. But unlike a mouse she stares back into those little black eyes.

"Come here child." She rises and walks over to him, and even at her age she is an inch taller than him.

"Welcome to the Palace. Although what lies behind here is merely the means that the servants use so they are not present within the King's chambers. These tunnels run all over the Palace, and you will use them so that you gain an air of mystery – this is essential for any concubine. You will be seen in one place and seen again in another almost instantly. Like that!" he snaps his fingers "You are not currently in the Palace of Caged Birds, to get there you may follow me."

Asha follows the man along the passages lit by fine iron lamps. The passages are hardly small; every so often they pass through halls where several flights of stairs meet to access different parts of the Palace. Finally they reach a new door that opens into a loggia a little like the one that surrounded her courtyard at home. But unlike her simple two story townhouse this one is built much more richly on four stories, and gardens and fountains fill the courtyard below.

"You see the analogy with a cage?" the man asks her "You can see that this square loggia around the courtyard is a marble and wood cage which holds our pretty birds. But they don't go out into the city, and they only leave their cage to go to other parts of the Palace for certain ceremonies and performances. I will show you to your apartment and then I must leave you."

As they walk around the loggia, Asha notices that the different sides of the building have different names. There is the House of the Calligraphers, the House of the Blossoming Bloom, the House of the Beloveds, and each take up one side of the loggia, the rooms beyond comprising the houses. The fourth house is the last that they arrive in; the House of New Strings. The man takes her to a door marked with a complicated set of letters that Asha hardly has time to read before she is ushered inside. "This is where you will live," says the man "I will send your new maid along immediately." And that is it. He shuts the door and leaves her.

Asha looks around the room. It is a fairly large one, with a low central table and four seating cushions around it. Beautiful artwork and writing decorate the walls, and vases of flowers stand on delicate side tables. Two arches branch off into corridors, and as she stands there, wondering what to do, she hears someone coming from the right hand one.

In sweeps another girl, older and taller and strikingly different from her. This one has the slitted eyes and high cheekbones of the people from the east of the Kingdom, and her clothes are different – her robes are not patterned in red and gold and orange, but in blue and purple and black. The sleeves are different also, long and trailing rather than round and tied in at the wrist. Asha has not seen a _Khishani _person before, and the girl looks at her imperiously.

"Who are you? Are you a servant?" she sneers. Her voice sounds strange, although what she has said is perfectly comprehensible.

"I am Asha Ghulgani; I am one of the Chosen Flowers of this year. Are you the other?"

"Oh. I did not expect that you would be here so soon."

Asha is confused. Traditional court etiquette says that it is impolite to carry on a conversation after a question until the question has been answered. The girl looks at her and sighs impatiently "Yes, I am the other. I am Bazan Duloszha. I arrived here several days ago."

"It is a pleasure to meet a fellow Flower," says Asha, bowing slightly. Her fellow Flower made a face.

"Do you know, my things still haven't arrived from Azgabarah yet. The camel train is lost in the desert, I shouldn't wonder. Where are you from?"

"I live in the capital. I expect my possessions will be arriving shortly."

"Oh. You're a local girl then."

"Yes. Where is Azgabarah?"

Asha already knows that, but it seems polite to take an interest.

"Don't you know anything? Azgabarah is in the eastern-most province of the kingdom and borders the _Khishani_ lands; my mother is a _Khishani_ tribal princess."

"Do you like that?"

"My mother knows nothing! She knows nothing about tradition or ritual! She didn't understand why I was being chosen, she doesn't understand how much honour it brings to the family!"

"So does she mind that you have left?"

"I don't think she cares. At least my father knows what an honour it is. But my mother is just an ignorant barbarian. I'm tired of questions," Bazan says rudely "The left-hand suite is yours. I'm going to bed." She flounces out of the room and down her own corridor.

Asha is left in the room listening to Bazan's retreating footsteps. There is a pause as a door slams, and then the one behind her opens. Two other girls of about eighteen or nineteen stand there, dressed in ordinary white robes and with their hair done in a simple style.

"Good afternoon, Flower of the Most Perfect Garden. Are you Asha Ghulgani?"

"I am. Are you my maid?"

"I am indeed Flower. And this is the other Flower's maid."

"Ah," Asha addresses the other girl "Bazan has gone for a rest. I do not know whether she wants to be disturbed."

The girl bobs in thanks and retreats into the right hand passageway. The remaining maid takes Asha's hand and leads her to the left hand passage "These are your apartments Flower. There are two bedrooms, a dressing room, a bathroom and a drawing room, all for your personal use. No one but you and I will come here unless by your invitation. This," says the girl, opening a door "is your bedroom. There are some robes in the adjacent dressing room for your use until your luggage arrives, although I gather that that shouldn't be too long. My bedroom is through that door," she says, pointing at a door on the other side of the room and bowing low "I am entirely at your service. My name is Hanami."

"Thank you Hamani. I shall take a moment to appreciate this. 'We must always take a moment to realise the perfection within it'." Asha quotes.

Hanami smiles "I see my lady has been studying her Dalzeer. It would be excellent if every Flower were so studious," and Asha feels that this is aimed at Bazan in particular "I will leave you then."

The door closes carefully, and Asha looks at her surroundings – at the comfortable bed and low chest of drawers. There is a desk for writing letters and a pen stand and inkwell, and a scroll stand. There's space for the two compulsory musical instruments that every concubine must learn, and there are some beautiful paintings on the walls. But there are no windows, and this is what Asha misses most of all. For without even the breath of the wind and the kiss of the sunshine, they are truly kept in a cage.


	3. A Caged Bird in Training

Weeks pass in the Palace, and Asha's life in the House of New Strings becomes ever more complicated. The newer Flowers are instructed in various things by older concubines and the eunuchs, and a regular timetable is not part of their structure. Somehow messages are passed from the eunuchs to the maids who then prepare and escort their charges to their lessons, and Asha sees different girls at every lesson. The one thing that does not change is that Asha and Bazan share the same lessons; and Asha dislikes this. Bazan has not improved since their first meeting, the girl continues to be snappy and cruel to Asha, and so is best avoided. Fortunately whenever they are in the rooms together Bazan tends to spend time in her room. Asha hears the two maids talking together as she does her calligraphy, and from what she hears Bazan spends most of her time brushing her hair at the mirror or experimenting with her makeup.

The person that Asha has grown closest to is Hanami. While Hanami brushes her hair Asha reads aloud from her scrolls and they discuss philosophy and aesthetics at the same time. Asha had discovered with delight that her mother had packed the ball with which she used to play with her cat, and this sits on her bedside table when mistress and maid don't play with it, tossing it back and forth. They also talk together about subjects other than those Asha learns. They talk about everything – Hanami is curious to know about the privileged life that Asha has led, and in turn Asha learns about Hanami's very humble background in the Market Quarter of the capital. Asha also learns so much about the workings of the Palace of Caged Birds.

One thing she has learned is the origin of the names of the four Houses of the Palace. The house that she inhabits, the House of New Strings, is named after the strings of the mandolin, and the slightly different sounds each makes, even on the same instrument. Here the newer girls are trained in all the arts they require to become concubines until they can graduate to the House of the Blossoming Blooms. This is the most exciting House, where the newly trained concubines can practice and perfect the arts that they have learnt. It is perfectly possible for concubines to remain in this house for the rest of their career, unless they are particularly favoured and are given the opportunity to live in the House of the Beloveds, where they get to follow their own routine and have apartments full of rooms to themselves. When they have reached the end of their working life, some are allowed to leave the Palace and set themselves up in the city – the first time they will have seen the outside world in decades. Others join the eunuchs in the House of the Calligraphers, teaching the younger concubines in the more specialised arts of their world.

Once a day, Asha and Bazan and their maids take a walk in the gardens. It is often the only time that Asha and Bazan speak to each other, and then it is an opportunity for Bazan to bully and belittle her maid Sharza as to her clumsiness and incompetence. Asha replies a similar manner about Hanami, although her answers are calculated to offer more insult to Bazan than to Hanami. Bazan sometimes seems to realise this and gives Asha an icy stare, while the two maids follow them carrying the parasols and innocent smiles. Later in the apartment Hanami congratulates Asha on her verbal sparring, and they both laugh at the fact that Bazan is unable to think of anything clever to say in retaliation.

One thing that Bazan can do very well is dance. While dancing is very little more than entertainment to those in the Kingdom, in _Khishani _dance is of central importance to the tribe for story-telling and as a collective memory. Tribal dancing is of course frowned upon in the Kingdom court, but because of her skill and quick learning Bazan was asked by the dancing tutor to give a demonstration of _Khishanan _dance. It was in stark contrast to the slow, ponderous style of the Kingdom, where elaborate hand gestures and facial expression convey meaning to the gentle notes of pipes and drum. Bazan played a quick succession of notes on a mandolin and passed it to one of the musicians, asking her to repeat it over and again. Her dancing was a technically brilliant series of steps and handclaps as she whirled and spun. Even in the heavy robes of court dress, her movements were elegant and sensual. After several minutes of this, the dancing tutor clapped his hands once, and Bazan brought the dance to a natural pause. Asha joins in the applause with just as much enthusiasm, for what she has seen is beautiful.

As for what Asha excels in, she has very little interest in dance and so struggles with it. When offered a choice of musical instruments she decides to take up the mandolin and the hand-drums, as there were many compositions for both those instruments and Hanami could join her in them. She takes great pleasure in philosophy and literature, although she finds the strictures upon the literature that women can read frustrating. The Concubines Library is very limited in terms of reading material, and while there is sheaf after sheaf of poetry and philosophy there is little on any subject of interest such as political history or warfare.

"How are we supposed to converse with men on subjects sensibly if we don't know anything of their world?" says Asha one day impatiently throwing aside a scroll of Jezdeen Al'Watir "I know nothing of things that would interest a man, but plenty of what would send them running for the door! 'The Play of Light on the Oasis' indeed! As if any man I'm likely to entertain will have read that poem!"

"As far as I'm aware, many men aren't entertained by a woman's knowledge of poetry, but rather her knowledge of more intimate talents!" scoffs Hanami "Besides, the best concubines can turn any conversation to their advantage."

"There is so much that separates from them," Asha muses, looking at another scroll "A different script, a different way of life. The men of our class get to hunt, get to study, get to fight; get to do almost anything they want to do. They have all the opportunity and only half the talent!"

"Would you want to be like Bazan's mother?" quizzes Hanami "Remember how Bazan speaks of her mother having learned to ride, to fire a bow and arrow, to wrestle and sit and table and eat with the men with knives. Imagine the state of your silk dress if you were allowed to act like that. And they live in leather tents and tend flocks. They count their wealth in the number of goats they have!" She practices a little rhythm on her hand drums.

"Is this what always happens?" asks Asha "Do maids get so close with everyone? Won't you be given to someone else next year?"

"Maids are presented to new Flowers and stay with them throughout Palace life. I have a feeling that rule was made by a man who realised how lonely life in the Cage can be. But we train to become maids several years before – there's a lot of preparation to become a Flower's handmaiden, just like to become a concubine!"

"Then I pity Sharza! She's stuck with Bazan for the rest of her days! The poor girl must be driven to distraction!"

"Oh we're well trained to deal with such silly little girls. Maybe you should pity Bazan instead! Sharza has me; and she has the other maids that she trained with. She even has you to a certain extent. Who does Bazan have? I know that you do not share a bond with the girl, but she must be very lonely, don't you think?"

Asha rolls up the scroll and ties it with a leather strap "If she's lonely, it's her own fault. She's spiteful and cruel and far too pleased with her own talents. I don't know how she'll ever entertain clients with such a sour expression on her face! But I've seen her in lessons, she can charm her way anywhere she wanted – the better the profit in question the more charming she can be!" Hanami picks up the hairbrush and begins to brush Asha's gleaming tresses.

One of the eunuch instructors continues to talk about the Four Wonderful Precepts that determine both the choosing of the Flowers and what they are trained in before they move up to the House of the Blossoming Blooms; intelligence, beauty, music and artistic expression. Every year new challenges are made up to test the Precepts, such as finding examples of perfection from the courtyard garden, or requiring a concubine to compose a rendition of the song of a particular bird on one of her chosen instruments. Some are sometimes riddles or mind puzzles, others are passed by painting a living animal when instructed. Those that do well are given more favour and better apartments – those that perform poorly are given fewer comforts so that they remember the benefits of hard work. The penalty for failing a test is dismissal or even death. Fortunately, there haven't been any failures for a hundred years, and so the women of the Palace are considered the epitome of accomplishment anywhere in the known world.

Asha continues to enjoy her time with Hanami and the other girls, and from time to time she receives letters from her parents to which she dutifully replies. Behind the words of the goings on in the outside world lies the deep sadness of her mother and bitter regret of her father, and she tries to bridge the gap by saying how happy she is, how much she is learning and how well she is doing. All she wants is to stretch out her arms and have them hold her, rather than these imprints of themselves and the outside world painted with on rolls of paper.

Asha sits at the central table in their entry room to compose letters back to them; it's also the room where the girls and their maids eat. Asha often takes a drink of orange nectar infused with honeysuckle when she writes her letters, accompanied with a bowl of sugar biscuits. This is one of the few times that Asha allows herself total immersion in thoughts of her family. While it is always present in her mind, writing letters to them is the closest personal contact that she can have, and it often has an emotional effect on her and sometimes she weeps. It is on one of these occasions that Bazan enters from her own apartment, and watches Asha crying and tidying away the paper with its tears-stained letters, with steely incomprehension.

"Why are you crying?" she asks, not concerned but insolently curious. Then she sweeps over in her deep purple robe with its silly sleeves and arranges herself on the cushion opposite Asha. She reaches over and takes one of the sugar biscuits, crunching it impolitely and scattering crumbs over Asha's father's letter that she has rolled out to give her inspiration for things to write. Asha picks it up in irritation and shakes the crumbs onto the table top; there will be no more letter writing today. Bazan's intrusion has shaken her concentration.

"We are sisters, you know," says Bazan conversationally "We are fellow Flowers, thrown into this woman's world at the same time. We should share our problems."

Asha stares at her in horror. Hanami enters from Asha's apartment and watches the two girls silently; Bazan is unaware of her presence. Asha pauses a moment before replying; "Thank you, but I am quite well. This is a momentary lapse of control, I assure you. I do not require assistance, freely as you give it, sister."

"You have no problems to discuss then?" Bazan sounded disappointed.

"I assure you, nothing worth discussion. There is nothing one can do in any case; being away from their family for such a long time is bound to draw forth some emotion. It is perfectly normal."

It was Bazan's turn to stare. Asha's challenge had not gone unnoticed. Asha forces herself not to look away from the glittering eyes that stare at her across the table. Deeper than the coldness that emanates from her was the hatred that simmers beneath the bewitching brown eyes and alabaster skin. There is no channel of contact between them, no common ground.

Bazan reaches over the table and took another biscuit, standing up to leave. "You should watch yourself, Flower. You eat enough of those and you'll turn into a plump little fruit!" She puts the biscuit into her mouth where it made a bulge in her cheek, and turns to go back into her own apartment, treating Hanami to an icy glare as she passes her. Asha watches her go and then collects up her scrolls and brushes, and Hanami come forward and picks up the ink stone, being careful not to spill the ink on the carpeted floors.

Once they had retreated to Asha's room and replaced the scrolls and other accoutrements, they kneel down on the carpets on the floor. Hanami had brought a basket of robes from the laundry, neatly folded and perfumed. They now had to refold the clothes to put them in the chest of drawers. While they do so, they talk together about that has just happened.

"I don't trust her Hanami," Asha tells the woman "Did you hear what she said? I don't believe that she cares one jot about me; not after all we've ever talked about is Sharza's incompetence and how Bazan's mother is an uncouth barbarian! I did not expect that, and I _suspect _her motives."

"She wants to unbalance you Flower," says Hanami as she refolds an under-robe "She is trying to catch you while your emotions are raw and she can get her claws into you! Were you less intelligent, she would have become your most trusted companion and then destroyed you."

"She is like a snake! This is what I thought when I was looking at her, that was the one image that was running through my mind! I've heard how snakes watch their prey until they can calculate the optimum moment at which to strike – she is exactly like a desert snake!"

"Indeed. She would have become your friend for years before she struck you like a snake or a scorpion. Women like her are always looking for ways to destroy people – and you must be on your guard against her. This is, I think, why your life will be lonely and sometimes difficult. Concubines rarely make friends with each other."

"I would be so lonely without you, Hanami!"

"But I can't look after you all the time. You must continue to grow stronger against all these women. This is the only way to succeed. Here in the House of New Strings they will give you all you need to be a concubine apart from a hard shell. The most successful concubines are the ones who can strategise and plan their futures. The ones who can do everything but this remain in the House of the Blossoming Blooms until they become a dancing or a music instructor! Without a business head on your shoulders you can never become a Beloved!"

"What a pity that we can read nothing of economics or mathematics then!"

"The business of concubines requires little of economics or mathematics, apart from the Four Wonderful Precepts or the beauty of geometrical poetry! But anything you can learn from men is very valuable; because it can be applied to others."

"How many men will we see? I thought we were in the service of the King and only the King."

"Goodness me, he'd be a busy man! No, the Palace of Caged Birds is put at the disposal of guests, friends of the King, male members of the Royal Family – it is true that it was originally only the King who was permitted to enjoy the delights of the Cage, but it is far more business minded now. And of course this allows the concubines a far wider scope of influence among the court – and the more popular the concubine, the better her clientele become, until they have the ear of the King himself!"

"Ah, so this is how it works! Then I must strive to be better than anyone else. This is the only way to exercise power for a woman."

"This is correct. Pay attention to the Four Wonderful Precepts and you will surely become a Blossoming Bloom. Only with skill and using your mind with precision can you become a Beloved!"

Asha is left with this thought as she retires to bed that night. She thinks again of how Bazan tried to entrap her in a web and knows that Bazan is already trying to move ahead of the game. And she doesn't have a valuable companion like Hanami to guide her, thinks Asha, so she must already have a handle on the intricacies of life as a concubine, however inexpertly she tries to implement it. Even if I haven't given her a plaything to manipulate, she knows that is not the way to conduct herself now. I have given her an advantage, however slight. I should have pretended to be taken under the sway of her pretended friendship, and struck her back!

As she drifts off to sleep, Asha feels nothing of the unhappiness that she did while writing her letters. Knowing now that there is a game to be played fills her with a strange exhilaration. She finds she enjoys the idea of playing a war game that does not involve capturing cities and fortresses, but instead ensnaring hearts and minds and confidences to seize power in the kingdom.


	4. The Hundred Stars of Masgaharah

A scroll lies on the centre table, so that it can be read by all who pass through the room. Asha picks it up and reads it quickly. Hanami appears at the archway to her apartment with the bowls that they had been eating from that morning. "What's that about?" she nods at the scroll.

"There's a court recital in the palace next week. Every concubine in the Palace is to attend a performance of 'The Hundred Stars of Masgaharah' by Abar Rabjaz. That's all it says. I haven't heard of that one. Rabjaz is generally as dull as it is possible for a playwright to be…"

"Which means that he's also one of the most popular!" laughs Hanami "How does the famous line go again? 'When celestial light doth shine from stars afire…"

"'Then I shall love thee with notes on my lyre!'" completes Asha, rolling the scroll up again "So that's two days from tomorrow in the Royal Pavilion."

"Oh you will enjoy the Royal Pavilion! It will make a pleasant change from the Cage. We shall have to get one of your best robes ready. We must make all the necessary preparations!"

On the afternoon before the performance was due to begin, Hamani helps Asha bathe in the sunken bronze circular bathtub in steaming hot water that was then infused with jasmine and cinnamon. After this Hamani massages Asha and rubs her skin with a sweet smelling unguent and combs her hair carefully. Her hair is then piled in tiers with carefully inserted pins and hair combs and tied up with ribbons. She is dressed in a beautiful white and gold robe and a necklace of bright gold disks that lie on her neck and chest, and clang and clink as she moves and breathes. Her face is painted and certain features accentuated, and finally perfume is applied to those parts of her that are open to the air. Once they are finished they move into the central room, waiting for Bazan and Sharza to emerge. After ten minutes of waiting, they decide not to wait any longer, and open the door to leave the apartment.

Asha had no idea that there were so many women here. The loggias surrounding the courtyard are filled with women of all ages – slender young women like herself walking carefully with their maids, older women with far more cosmetics and robes designed to flatter their figures. Even older concubines, the ones that teach music and literature, walking in plain grey and faded blue – some with walking sticks and moving with a kind of dignity that very few of the others could match. What with all their maids and the various eunuchs that lived here too, there must have been hundreds of people in the loggias. And all were walking towards the great doors that were located on the ground floor, and which led into the main palace buildings. Occasions such as recitals and performances were the few times that concubines would not use the Tunnels to get to different places in the Palace. Today they would walk through the entire complex and all would see the King's Caged Birds.

Asha looks around in wonder as they walk through the various chambers of the great building. She saw so few of it when she arrived, but it cannot even have been a hundredth of what there was. They passed through galleries and halls and courtyards – Asha tried to work out what it would like from above but could not even imagine. Finally the scent of fresh air reached them through the airy halls, and a huge pair of doors opened to let the stream of people out into the gardens.

From the doors, a bridge with arched columns above and below stretched over the Royal Ponds. Below flocks of swans and other waterfowl glided over the water. As it was the height of summer the sun was beginning to set and the red and gold light decorated the far off trees and plants and the water below. As the bridge ended and the gardens began, she looked round in wonder at the beautiful plants and fragrant flowers.

"Look at these," she can hear the eunuch in front of her whispering to another, pointing to a certain clump of trees, tall and strong and fragrant smelling "Two thousand miles in a camel's saddlebag full of dirt they carried the seedlings, and look at them now! What a testament to the power of the Kingdom!"

"So many things in the gardens have been brought from foreign lands," says Hanami to Asha "And in the menagerie the ancestors of the animals there were brought here by boat or by camel train across the desert. The palace is a microcosm of the whole world!"

A flock of songbirds whirls through the air, singing as they fly. Asha feels envy that they live in this beautiful place, and also for their freedom. These birds aren't caged, she thinks to herself. She can see ahead of them, the Pavilion. A huge octagonal structure is just visible ahead, its arches standing tall against the setting sun. Music is already drifting through the gardens from the structure, as the overture to the play is begun. The octagonal structure has stepped seating with cushions scattered along the steps so that everyone could sit down. There are already rows of courtiers and lords and ladies sitting along the steps, and Asha tries to scan the faces to find her mother and her father. But of course they would have been lost in the crowd.

Somehow all the concubines and maids and eunuchs sit down and manage to stop chattering as the King and Queen and the Royal Children make their entrance. While she applauds them Asha watches the Queen and wondered what her story was. How did she feel when she had been chosen as a new Flower? How has she managed to survive through the years in the Cage, with all the cruelties and injustices that dictated her life? She also watches the Royal Children, and in particular, the Crown Prince. And she is aware that many of the younger girls were doing the same.

His Majesty seems aware of it, and for a young man of some sixteen years, it is perhaps not surprising that he blushes at being viewed by row upon row of heavily made up concubines. The Royal Family took their seats to a fanfare, and the performance began.

The orchestra struck up and a large canvas was rolled back above them, revealing the orange-purple sky and the stars that were beginning to come out. There were no clouds to obscure this beautiful scenery that was particularly suited to this play and as the stars continued to appear during the evening. Asha was far more interested in this, the slow progress of the heavens above her than the comparatively dull dancing and lyric poetry below them. But a violent nudge from Hanami makes her look down to the stage. The hero of the piece was addressing the audience, a broad chested young man with shoulder length black hair and thick black eyebrows; Asha gathers that the heroine, reclining at the other side of the stage, is not impressed with his efforts to attract her. However it is another figure, descending down the steps to the stage that captures her attention and that Hanami means her to notice.

Asha recognises the figure as soon as it begins to move into the centre of the stage. The movements are fluid and easy as it dances to the middle of the geometrical pattern, and Asha does not hear the words that the man now speaks as she recognises Bazan. The dancing is unmistakeable, Asha has watched Bazan dance too often to be mistaken and the movements; quick, precise, and as the dancing tutor had said 'like the song of a bird translated into motion' it was quite clear that this is how Bazan had been otherwise engaged that evening.

Asha is frozen, one of only two in the crowd – everyone else is still too, captivated with the girl's dancing. Asha is so shocked that she at last concentrates on what is being said;

"Oh what star is this that lights up our night? Bringer of dreams and knowledge of mind, it watches upon us kindly, and grants my wishes, from a fount of knowledge divinely divined."

Bazan reaches the centre of the stage and begins to turn slowly on her right leg, extending her arms and left leg as she turns, her shining sequined costume catching the star and moonlight. The hero and heroine travel to the centre themselves and begin to circle round Bazan as she continues to turn, still balancing on her right leg. Faster and faster she turns, faster and faster comes the delivery of the lines, faster and faster they circle – until a drum roll from the orchestra and a puff of smoke disguises Bazan. It clears and there is no sight of the provident star, while the two lovers, united by their shared captivation see each other face to face and fall in love Asha supposes, although she is far too shocked by Bazan's appearance to register the rest of the play.

It is only when applause breaks out, and the performers bow to the Royal Family and then to the rest of the audience that Asha realises what is going on and joins in. The Royal Family then stand and are ushered from the Pavilion and after a moment the rest of the court and the concubines, penned in by the eunuchs, follow. On the way back, Asha is unable to appreciate the cool of the night in the gardens, like the clicking of cicadas and the groups of roosting swans on the banks of the Royal Ponds. She is too agitated and being calmed by Hanami has little effect.

"What was she doing there? I didn't know concubines could perform in plays! What was she doing!"

"Hush! The talents of the concubines is occasionally called upon to demonstrate the skills and arts being taught in the Palace of Caged Birds. Although it is would be extremely unusual for a new Flower to be asked to perform…"

"You do nothing to alleviate my worry! That girl is my ultimate competition, she has just danced for the Royal Family, and now you tell me that this is a _particular _honour is not often awarded to new Flowers! What else can I do but to be concerned! How I wish that I had practiced my dancing better –"

"The best concubines are not those who pretend expertise where they have mediocrity!" snaps Hanami "The best make up for their mediocrities by exemplifying their best traits. The Beloveds are not those who try to advance the areas where they do not excel at the expense of those that they do; and if you decide against my advice you may as well forget entering the House of the Beloveds this moment!"

Asha feels too betrayed to answer; but as soon as the crowds of concubines, maids and eunuchs have made their way back to the loggias and their apartments, she turns to Hanami at once. "I can forget entering the House of the Beloveds can I? Who are you to tell me this you silly girl? How can you tell me my limitations!"

"I will tell you what I have noticed! This is what I have noticed and what simply makes sense! Think of a concubine who could only dance well, but knew little of the other arts becoming of her class! Identify your strengths and use them; once you have done so by all means improve your dancing! I-" Hanami stops abruptly. Asha turns around and is confronted by the sight of Bazan brushing her hair at the archway leading to her apartment. Hanami bows and moves behind Asha back to the apartment, leaving Asha to face Bazan. Asha's hackles settled; the sight of Bazan, face not made up perfectly and brushing her own hair had disarmed her. After a moment of still silence, she bowed to Bazan politely.

"I must congratulate you on your dancing tonight, fellow Flower."

"You knew me?" Bazan feigns surprise, but it is clear from her face that she had heard the conversation between Asha and her maid "Of course I was very honoured to be asked to dance the part of the Star of Knowledge and Providence. You know the play of course."

"Of course."

"And indeed I was very pleased to know that the Royal Family would be there this evening. Of course I do not expect that they shall be informed of my name, but it is an honour nonetheless."

But no doubt they will remember your dancing much better than your name, thinks Asha, but instead says "I am pleased that you were asked. Even to my limited knowledge of the art, it was a beautiful piece of art. I am sure that all there wished that it could be preserved to be admired forever." Preferably cast in bronze. With you inside, she thinks.

"It is very kind of you to say," says Bazan, a triumphant smile playing across her face "Perhaps one day we shall dance together. But truly, the hundred stars of Masgaharah are out already, and it is late. I must bid you goodnight. We have more lessons tomorrow. Goodnight fellow Flower." Bowing low, she retreats to her own apartment.

Asha breathes out heavily and turns to her own, walking up the corridor to her bedroom. Hanami is already there, turning back the silk coverlets and rearranging the cushions. She did not greet her mistress as she should have done, but instead says "You offered her congratulations?"

"Yes. What else could I do?"

"It is well done. You concealed your anger-"

"I am not angry! I am concerned for my future; don't you understand this?"

"Of course you are angry. Bazan has just leapt ahead in your race – a race that only you are participating in, I can see. Do not push your talents too much, or you will become too proud and too cold – and no-one wants a frigid concubine! The two terms hardly make good bedfellows, if you will excuse the expression!"

"This is not funny!"

Hanami places a cushion in an aesthetically pleasing position and turns to her mistress. "I am sorry. But you must be told. Bazan is ahead of the game, but it is a game of skill, not of who is best at what or who is quicker than whom. And beware that Bazan is evidently clever enough to work out the game for herself, as I doubt Sharza will have enlightened her. She will attempt to intimidate you with her talents and I'm sure this particular event will please her for weeks to come. But you must learn and play the game yourself; I can't shake the dice or move the pieces for you. You've done well up until now; but tonight – I fear for you."

Asha calms down a little "I fear for myself. I do not wish to remain in the House of the Blossoming Blooms and then the House of Calligraphers for the rest of my life. I wish to attain influence and power. I want to change things. I want to _matter_! I don't want to be a brief butterfly of a woman, who dances and plays and chatters to men and then goes on to teach the girls who will go on to do the same! There's nothing progressive, and nothing even especially high-minded about this whole Palace! This Cage!"

Hanami comes forward and embraces her, and Asha collapses onto the woman with this outpouring. They hold each other close, and then draw away. Hanami wipes a tear from Asha's face as she says "You are a good girl, and you play the game for a good reason. I will do all I can to help and prepare you, but ultimately it is down to you to play properly. But remember that in this game, sometimes it is good to change the rules!"

They say no more, and Hanami helps Asha out of her robe and into bed as she turns the lantern down. "Goodnight my lady. Try not to think too much of tonight, I'm sure that soon you will strike back at Bazan. Think of your future successes and not Bazan's past ones."

Once she had left, sleep did not come quickly to Asha. She replayed the dance over and again under the changing stars. This was one of Bazan's successes, but Asha would make sure that her own would outshine her rival's soon enough.


	5. The Founding of the Parsi

Early autumn had come to the kingdom, and at the Festival of Many Gods the newer concubines were released from their lessons for a week of leisure. Many went out into the courtyard garden to sit and write poetry or paint, play handball with their maids or with each other. Girls and women would lean over the marble loggias calling to those below or chatting with each other. The trees and plants of the garden, while not as majestic or varied and exotic as those in the main Palace Gardens were a wonder to behold for Asha. Some of the leaves began to turn colour, and on some, from the colder lands from the north and west, the leaves even dropped off! Asha would pick up the brilliantly coloured and patterned leaves and hide them in her sleeves, and show them to Hanami later; inking and sticking them to sheets of paper in childish designs like handprints.

Asha did not see Bazan during the week of the Festival at all – she imagined that the girl was probably sleeping (or brushing her hair). Asha spent almost every available hour outside, causing much amusement among the older concubines as she gasped over the leaves and the flowers whose dry brown heads were almost as remarkable as their gaily painted petals had been earlier in the season. She would pick off seed heads and rattle them in her hands, bursting them open and watching the seeds fly off into the wind. In moments like these she is still a child, almost expecting her cat to leap out from behind bushes and bat at leaves bowling along in the wind. And the women themselves are almost transformed into what they might have been had they not been brought to the Cage – they stand at the doorways to the apartments chatting to each other, applaud as younger concubines dance on the little wooden stage in the middle of the courtyard and play with the water in the fountains. These usually cold, stiff, competing women have softened into friends and neighbours, sharing jokes and memories of their current and former lives.

Hanami helps Asha heap small sweet cakes and light incense at the house shrine, usually hidden behind a curtain between the archways to each girl's apartment, the curtain rolled up and tied to prevent a fire risk. Asha notices that Bazan does not bother to make a sacrifice, but bows crossly when she passes in front of it, less out of devotion than just a need to be seen to be devoted. It does not make any impression on either Hanami or Asha.

Then as soon as the change comes, it disappears. By the end of the Festival, the women are back to their old ways, ignoring each other as they walk past and not congregating in the courtyard together. Asha can no longer go into the courtyard and pick up the fallen leaves and she keeps the ink imprints of the leaves in the bottom of her drawers as a memory. The warmth that exuded from everybody has dissipated, but Hanami and Asha can still talk together and laugh about the short memory of the concubines. Asha must concentrate hard not to laugh out loud as women who just a few days ago were sharing jokes at one of the fountains below can walk past each other without even a first glance with their maids in tow.

The year continues on through autumn and winter, and as the temperatures cool further Asha's thoughts turn to those girls in whose place she was last year. Already the inspectors will be visiting the great families of the land and testing their daughters. Asha can remember hers last year – a man who questioned her on poetry, and asked her to write some script and draw something that he produced from his pocket – a grasshopper in a little metal cage she remembered. He had even asked her to come forward and produced a little silver tin with callipers and measuring devices to check her features against the standards of beauty – a truly frightening experience as he clicked his tongue and wrote down the measurements.

This memory seems at odds to her, and always comes back to her when she looks in the mirror. Her face always seems to her the same – the same as she always remembers it. She is never surprised when she looks in the mirror. After she heard she had been selected, she almost expected to see a vision of perfection when next time she looked in a mirror – but nothing had changed. Her skin was smooth and with blemish it was true, but that was nothing new. Her eyes were the same shape and colour, and the same distance apart. Her nose the same size, her mouth the same shape. Her ears were still neat little shells of flesh, her chin was still to the same proportion to her head as it had always been. Was this beauty?

If the inspectors were strict about following the guidelines of beauty and talent, they were at least representative. While many of the concubines were at least _Parsi _in name, many of them had mothers from other lands and peoples. There were many different colours of skin among the concubines of the Palace; from the deep nut brown of the _Ghalian _peoples to the south to the strange pale yellow of those, like Bazan, of _Khishani _ extraction from the east – there was even one woman whose mother had been one of the barbarian peoples from the north. Marida (her name, sounding so odd in comparison to theirs) always attracted attention, for no-one had ever seen skin so white, with blue eyes and blonde hair. She was not seen often, for the hot sun burned her pale skin very easily. She was one of the Beloveds, and whenever she went out for a walk in the courtyard she was followed with a canopy carried by four servant girls to protect her skin.

"I do wonder about the rest of the world sometimes," Asha says as Hanami applies some creams and moisturising milks to her face "We have so many women here and they and their parents all have stories. And some of their mothers come from so far away – Bazan's for example. What's it like in those countries and lands, and what do they do? We only study texts from _Parsi _literature and their writers and only learn about the history of our land. What about everywhere else. Bazan and Marida, they represent many more people dissimilar and yet alike to our Kingdom – don't they matter?"

"Listen to you! I thought you only wanted to get to the top of the heap in the Cage, now you want to know all about the outside world!" laughs Hanami "Concentrate on one thing at a time. Once you have conquered the Palace, and then find out about the world!"

"Maybe so, but I would like to know more."

"Like your desire to find out about politics and economics? Well maybe one day. For now you must continue your studies here; then you can discover what lies outside."

Winter is only a word in the Kingdom, and so there is little snow or ice anywhere in the lands, but temperatures become much cooler than in summer. But in order to save the women from chills and colds, they are instructed to walk around in furs if they go out at all. Many women stay indoors and spend the winter in comfortable pursuits such as poetry and painting…and several are still in sufficient demand to conduct warmer pursuits. Asha watches as Hanami brings in a cauldron of boiling water with sophisticated pipes to maintain the temperature and the two of them sit on the floor sewing or playing their instruments in conversation to while away the winter days.

Asha has not had a winter with so little activity and things going on. Apart from their meals they rarely see anyone else, and every so often Sharza is able to visit them in their rooms; as Bazan, perhaps in response to her cultural heritage, spends much of the winter sleeping. Asha enjoys having Sharza in her rooms, for not only does it allow conversation about the temper tantrums and demands of Bazan, but Sharza proves to be a very good conversationalist and excellent company. The two older girls act as something of a pair of older sisters to Asha as they talk of all kinds of things over the winter.

Early spring arrives again and the furs are packed back into their chests until the next year. To Asha's surprise and Bazan's shock they are to move out of their apartment, for yet again two girls have been chosen for the Cage. At last Asha realises the significance of the characters on the door, which reads 'Two Wonderful Buds'. They move into a new set of apartments with two older girls, far more extensive but still in the House of New Strings. Instead of one centre room there is a series of interlocking salons with a dining room to the fore and a small bathhouse at the rear – many of the bathhouses are set at the back of the apartments so that the vents can release steam and piping can be located in just one place. Asha takes much pleasure in exploring the rooms for herself and is particularly interested in the bathhouse, which reminds her of the one in her home – rather, her parent's home – but this one is much larger and more beautiful. Similar moves have been made all over the Cage, as women are moved on from their apartments (to prevent, Asha thinks, any sense of the women having a 'home') and chests and sacks and clothes and valuables are moved all along the loggias. Asha takes extreme care to make sure that her cat's toy and her leaf print paintings are carefully packed away so they are not damaged.

They do not see the other girls until the evening meal after they've moved in, where they meet two aristocratic _Parsi _girls named Yanala Fennaloghi and Sahb Beehsvand. They are both polite to both Asha and Bazan and to each other, but have such an air of disinterest about them that Asha finds it difficult to like either. Relations between Bazan and Asha have not mellowed either, and Asha still dreams of repaying the blow that was dealt to her that evening in the Royal Pavilion.

By now acquainted with most of the girls in the House of New Strings, Asha makes sure that she looks for the two new girls who have joined them. One is a _Parsi _much like any of the others, while the other – a thin waif with long hair and large doe-like eyes – is only the second white-skinned, blonde haired girl in the Cage. This new arrival causes considerable interest, and from no other than Marida who strikes up a permanent friendship with her, and the two can be seen on occasion in the loggias being followed by maids with parasols talking quietly in a mixture of _Parsi _and one of the guttural dialects of the North.

At New Year, all the concubines except the two new arrivals go to the Temple of Ormazd to celebrate the Festival of the Light. The two new ones need not attend as they already represent new life and light, while the others need theirs replenished after the winter. They use the temple within the Palace of course, and as they file in and kneel on the cushions in front of the many candles and lamps which makes up the image of the god, Asha cannot help but wonder at the dazzling brilliance in this humble brick and tile temple.

"The temple was here before the palace you know," says Hanami conversationally "And the founders of the _Parsi _culture found it in the middle of the desert– a huge barrel vaulted building made out of brick and tile. Inside were the candles burning, but they never melted down, symbolising the strength of the _Parsi _people. From there the Palace and the City spread, until the _Parsi _Empire dominated the known world as it does today. Doesn't it make you proud to know such things?"

On the way back to the Cage, Asha thinks about this story. Surely the fact that the candles didn't burn down represented the immortal power of Ormazd, rather than the strength of the _Parsi. _Asha isn't sure about how she should react to a whole culture being founded on a theological misinterpretation. Still, this misinterpretation was all for the good – a mighty civilisation was founded that stretches across the lands. The riches of the world were theirs, all culture began and ended with them.

That was what was so often written in the philosophical texts and written on the walls of the steles and walls of the palace. Despite these words of 'wisdom' Asha couldn't help feeling just a little unsure about the 'natural position of power of the _Parsi_' that was so often quoted and written about in the poetry and literature. As if it were all just such a temporary conception, by something larger than they were. Perhaps only a dream.


	6. The Bird becomes Fledged

Years pass and everything changes. The yearly cycles of festivals and religious holidays and moving into different apartments became recognisable to Asha, but she began to notice so many new things that were happening to her body. She grew taller, inch by inch until she was as tall as Hanami, and then a few more until she was quite literally looking down upon her servant. And it was not only her height that had increased. Her hips widened and her breasts swelled, so that many of her garments had to be altered and some abandoned altogether. Asha worriedly examined her face in the mirrors of her various apartments to make sure that it wasn't changing as much as her body was, but it remained recognisable and no different to how she had always thought it.

She had to adapt to new regimes in the bathhouse. Her body now had to be plucked and moisturised by Hanami, dry skin scraped away with specially selected stones from volcano craters. Oils were rubbed into her skin and creams were applied to her face to maintain her fine complexion. As new fashions were adopted her hair was treated and styled in different ways, and new robes were delivered for her every month – to fit into wardrobes that gradually increased in variety. Asha picked over them with interest, looking at the different cuts of the robes and the new colours and patterns and materials that they were made with.

The lessons became ever more complicated, with not only complete texts being looked at but paragraphs and lines of plays taking up an entire lesson because of their wit and literary value. Often they were asked to compose poems on the spot concerning a certain subject – a poem about the heat of fire or the smell of cedar wood. Their compositions on their instruments were ever more demanding and sometimes they had to play ensemble, with girls who strayed off the beat having their knuckles rapped lightly with a cane, just enough to sting. Asha had not gained complete expertise with either the mandolin or the drums, and as a result had several occasions where she had to have her knuckles bathed in rose water to soothe them.

In all she did improve, and strongly. Something that upset her was that Bazan made just as much progress as she had. Her dancing had, despite Asha's prayers, improved noticeably and she was asked again to dance for the Royal Family not once but twice again at two performances at the Royal Pavilion. One thing that did not improve was her general mood and she was still capable of perpetuating little cruelties against Asha and their maids.

Asha made sure to keep studying the Four Wonderful Precepts and continue to create her façade to present to the world. It was fascinating to do so, but her real test was still to come. Entertaining the men of the court would be the real standard of suitability to be a concubine.

Meanwhile she and Bazan were about to be tested before they moved into the House of Blossoming Blooms. They were both escorted to a set of rooms in the House of Calligraphers where the tests would be administered. First they were asked to copy lines thirty six to one hundred and forty seven of 'The Treasures of Al'Gharam' by Sheebhaz, at which Asha breathed a sigh of relief – it was one of her favourite texts and she could repeat it practically word for word. She executed the task quickly and efficiently, with her blue-black ink tracing across the paper in her delicate woman's script. The texts were taken away to be examined – which not only needed the words to be correct, but also the length and arrangement of the lines should reflect the original work of the poet.

Next there was a drawing task, where a live leopard was brought in from the palace menagerie on a chain and collar. The leopard was not calm at all and while there were three strong men holding the chains attached to the collar, the leopard would occasionally spit and hiss at the two girls who knelt on the mats before it. Neither Asha nor Bazan showed any fear and took the brushes and inks to their canvases. Even as the leopard growled and clawed at the floorboards the girls calmly mixed colours and drew spots and the leopard's outline as if it was just a cat sitting in front of them. Finally one of the eunuchs rang a silver bell, the leopard was dragged out and the paintings laid flat so they could dry. The girls were given ice drinks and fanned to restore them, and then they were asked to change into their dancing robes. The dance and musical challenges were combined, with one girl playing while the other danced. As both were being tested, neither one could try to throw the other off the beat, and both tried their hardest. Asha privately thought that she played her mandolin better than Bazan played her flute, but of course Bazan danced better than she did.

The tests of the Four Wonderful Precepts completed, the two girls withdrew to await the results of their examinations. Both secretly hoped that the other didn't do as well so that the other would have to stay in an inferior apartment; but both were shocked when the eunuch Head Examiner entered the retiring room to give them their results.

"Good evening Flowers," he said, bowing low "It has been a long day, and your results are prepared. It is very unusual to have two concubines who excel so well at such a young age. I can see that both of you are certainly destined for the House of Beloveds. Your results are very interesting; never before have we had two Flowers who entered the Cage at exactly the same date have exactly the same results."

Asha didn't know what to think; the graduation from New Strings to Blossoming Blooms was supposed to rid her of Bazan and her malicious nature. She could feel Bazan's dismay radiate from her, but both of them said not a word.

"I hope that the apartment that you will share will suit your needs. Of course," said the eunuch, perhaps noticing the tension between the two girls "You will not stay in the same apartment for long. I know that women cannot share territory, much like tigers!" The two girls bowed their heads in acquiescence.

Their boxes and bundles were wrapped up and shunted to their new apartment. It was on the top floor of the Cage in the House of Blossoming Blooms. It was a much grander arrangement than they had been used to previously - the apartments here were centred around smaller courtyards behind – with suites of rooms to the left and right. The girls had separate bathhouses even, and kitchens – the only room they need share was the entrance salon and the loggia that surrounded their private courtyard.

Bazan treated Asha to one cold look and then swept away into her quarters, Sharza following her quickly. Hanami unlocked the door to Asha's apartment and led her in. It was sumptuously decorated, but it was the same cold beauty as it ever had been. The same beautiful paintings and furniture, the same elegant lights and the same flowers in the china vases…all that was different was the fact that there would be no more lessons; at least not the same lessons as had been conducted before.

But there was no time to think on that fact, for Asha had to meet her new tutors. These would go on to teach her literature and poetry, but to provoke discussion and conversation rather than for the purpose of examination. She was given further lessons in court etiquette and other lessons…the lessons which she had been expecting for some time. They were given alone with a single tutor, often a woman but not always, and instructed in the arts that Asha considered the most important for a concubine to know. Often there was a deal of embarrassment on Asha's side, but her tutors remained poker faced throughout the ordeal. They showed her books full of pictures that made her blush, and made her repeat the rules of engagement for lovers. There was so much to remember that Asha thought that 'lovers' was an odd name for them. This process was as mechanical and alien as everything else they had been taught. But the real art that concubines mastered was not love, but palace cunning, deceit and diplomacy.

A few months later, a scroll arrived on the table in the entrance salon. Hanami picked it up for Asha and read it.

"This is it," she said, showing Asha the scroll "Your first…event. You are expected at eight – we must make some preparations."

Asha was downcast. She remained silent as Hanami washed and brushed her hair, applied cosmetics to her face and dressed her in a white and gold robe, put earrings in her ears and a diadem in her black hair. At half past the hour, an escort of two eunuchs arrived to take her to the rooms where she would be entertaining the guest.

She was led to one of the doors to the tunnels, lined in red bricks and lit by the black lanterns. Through passages and staircases they walked, slowly and carefully so that her dress wouldn't catch or that her face would not be disfigured by trails of sweat. Finally they reached a new corridor, near a barely perceptible rectangle in the brick wall. One of the eunuchs touched a stone and the door in the wall slid open, revealing a brightly lit interior – so bright that Asha couldn't discern anything beyond.

"Lord Ashkahb waits for you inside," said the eunuch.

Asha stepped forwards, over the threshold.


	7. The Magic Lime Tree

The room was a round chamber, lit by a small metal furnace that hung on a chain from the ceiling. The eight alcoves around the chamber's circumference were hung with silk curtains and cushions, and various paintings of mythical characters were situated in between the alcoves – there was Ohlmara with her magical pipes, and Mahfouz riding his clockwork horse. There was a click behind her, and the door slid back into place displaying a painting of Persham and Harzhi, the famous lovers. How appropriate, she thought.

There was a rustle of silk and a man came out of the alcove opposite her. He was tall, with a short beard and moustache surrounding his mouth. He was dressed in a green tunic with bright red beaded slippers. He wore a short curved dagger thrust into his belt. His dark hair flowed down the back of his tunic, and his impassive face watched her keenly.

"Lord Ashkahb?" she asked timidly. He nodded. She bowed to him deeply.

"Stoke up the fire." he instructed her. Asha found a little golden trowel and opened the door of the hanging furnace, heaping on small twigs torn from aromatic spice trees as well as shreds torn from papers of prayers for warmth and plenty. The fire burned brighter, and the heat became a little more intense. All the time he stood watching her with his arms crossed across his chest.

Once she had finished, he indicated a scroll on a small octagonal table. "Read this to me."

Asha took it and looked at it. It was 'The Magic Lime Tree' – not a story that they had studied in the Cage, but a children's story that she recognised. Her mother had read it to her at bedtimes in her bedroom by candlelight; and here she was reading it to a great _Parsi_ lord in the light of the hundred candles which lined the walls of the chamber. But she took it up and knelt on the bright carpet of the floor while he reclined against a pile of tasselled cushions. Her voice traced the narrative familiarly, with Prince Mashbaz's journey through the desert to find the Magic Lime Tree at the top of Tishkam Mountain. She read about his dreams as he lay under it in a thousand year sleep, as the mountain was ground down into sand and became a new desert.

Just before she reached the part where the sting of a scorpion sent him to the afterlife with his lady love Usha in spite of all his years of dreaming (she had always disliked that part of the tale anyway) he held up his hand for her to stop. She did so obediently, and waited for him to speak.

"This chamber is dedicated to children's stories," he said "How strange that it should be the stage for the concubine's arts. Look up."

Asha looked at the ceiling. A mosaic of jewelled branches covered it, with limes picked out in fist sized emeralds. "The Lime Tree?"

"The dreams of children become the desires of adults. The Empire was once a dream of the _Parsi, _and now it is reality. This palace was once a dream of a king, and here it stands. Dreams can come true, but sometimes what we can dream must be bound by what we are."

Asha turned to him, and to her surprise there were tears in his eyes "Why are you telling me this?"

"I have been _honoured _to have had my two daughters selected for duty in the Cage. I am proud of them, but I miss them too much for me to describe. It is my dream that one day they will return home to me, but I do not think this will happen. What is your dream, girl?"

Asha looked up at him "My dream is to be queen of the _Parsi_. Not just for the honour to my family, but so that what happens in the Cage can be stopped. It should happen to no girl, to no family, to be taken away from her home and put among strange women and emasculated men, to be shaped and moulded into feminine perfection!"

Lord Ashkahb watched her quietly. Asha put the scroll down by her side, and reached over to a brass jug of wine and goblets. She poured the rich red wine out into the goblets, and handed one to Ashkahb, which took and sipped thoughtfully.

"You see, not every encounter will end in the Ultimate Discourse, as I believe it is called. This is my first visit to a concubine since before my first daughter was plucked. Sometimes a lord will wish only to talk with a beautiful woman, to be entertained with music and conversation rather than to fulfil his sexual desires."

"This is my first…_encounter_."

Ashkahb moved down onto the carpet and knelt opposite her "Then I am glad. I am glad that it is to you that I have told this. Your dreams will come true, I feel it in you. I see it in your heart and in your eyes that what you wish will come true. Now, please continue reading."

Asha picked up the scroll again and read how the scorpion's venom coursed through Mashbaz's veins, killing him slowly while fulfilling his dreams of rejoining his love in death. She shuddered a little as she did so, for she had always hated this part of the tale, but it was only through death that the final scene could be played out, in which Mashbaz was reunited with his love in the endless marble and glass pavilions of the afterlife, where they could listen to birdsong and fountains play for eternity together, while he could tell her of all the things that he had dreamed of under the Magic Lime Tree.

Once she had finished, Ashkahb drained his goblet and poured another. He brought out a mandolin from the collection of cushions "Play me something to send me to sleep. The wine will do its work in any case, but I should like to hear what they teach you in the Cage…perhaps this is what my daughters are learning to play…"

Asha wanted to be kind to this man who had lost his daughters, so she played him a soft tune on her mandolin to lull him to sleep. Part way through one song, he rang a little silver bell that echoed strangely. He half-closed his eyes, staring at the mosaic on the ceiling and said "I used to tell my daughters that story before bedtime." Asha continued to play for him until he said something that she did not expect.

"Pour me wine Taniza. Stoke up the fire Belshani."

Asha finished her song, quietly refilled his goblet and refuelled the hanging furnace. A scrap of cinnamon bark crackled and made burst of exotic smelling smoke that filled the room. At that moment the panel painted with the two lovers, Persham and Harzhi, slid aside and a eunuch stood there, waiting. Asha got up from her knees and walked towards the opening.

"You have tired him out, lady," said the eunuch, grinning.

The only thing that tires him is the fact that both his daughters have been separated from him forever! thought Asha, but she passed on without speaking and waited for the eunuch to shut the door and lead her out of the maze of the palace tunnels and back to the Cage. From the top floor of the Cage she could see a crescent moon and stars rising in the blue-black sky. She must have spent hours with Ashkahb. The eunuch rapped on the door, which was opened by Hanami. She was bustled in, and the door shut smartly to keep the cold out.

Hanami waited until they were back in Asha's bedroom, and once the door was shut she began to take the combs out of her hair and wipe her face clean of cosmetics.

"Dare I ask how it was?" she said as she worked.

"That poor man," Asha said "Lord Ashkahb and I merely talked together Hanami. I read him a tale, and played the mandolin. His two daughters have been received into the Cage themselves, and he is so unhappy. I can only imagine how my father and mother felt, and still feel that I am still here."

"He is a good man," said Hanami, brushing Asha's black hair thoughtfully "I knew he was of good character before, but my estimation of him has increased tenfold. But remember that not all of your visitors will be as kind."

"He offered me good advice, and good wishes for the future. His daughters would have been lucky to have him as a father, had they remained with him."

Hanami finished brushing Asha's locks and began to help her remove her fine robe, folding it up carefully and replacing it in a chest of drawers. "You should sleep, Flower. I imagine that this meeting has been more draining than the usual first encounter. I will ready your things. Would you like me to do anything else for you?"

"No thank you Hanami. I will be able to sleep, you're right, it has been a tiring evening."

"Very well. I'll leave you then. Goodnight Flower."

"Goodnight." the door clicked shut. Asha dressed in her robe and got into the warm bed with its eiderdown cover and pillows, and retreated into a warm bundle as she thought about Lord Ashkahb and his daughters. She thought again of the terrible pain of separation that all families felt…well, _most_ families, she corrected herself as she thought of Bazan, when their daughters were selected for the Cage. She thought again about her dream, her goal, her ambition.

Don't worry Lord Ashkhab, she thought, one day I will see your daughters returned to you.


	8. Lord Tarakam's Gambit

Over the next few months Asha was selected for numerous more 'encounters'. Sometimes they were akin to what she had experienced with Ashkahb, where she merely talked and read and played music to the men she saw; other times she delivered services that on their first transaction shocked her, and later made her feel sick and bemused by turns. On occasion they were pleasurable, certainly, but they had no meaning for her at all. It was a commodity to be traded for what she was to gain – but what was she to gain from her assignations? She did not know what she was supposed to take away from her time with these men.

"Political rumour and intrigue! That's what you're supposed to gather! Isn't this what you wanted to take from them, to draw yourself further into court politics?" asked Hanami as she brushed Asha's hair.

"But how should I do so? How can I tell what I hear from them has any intrinsic value in regard to politics?"

"Listen to the names that they praise or spit, and you'll get to know court politics soon enough! You'll know who is closest to the King, and who is one step away from exile; who wields true power and who is a mere social climber! Soon you will learn how to manoeuvre your way around the court; I tell you what, pick a target and see what happens to him."

"But that's so cruel! I need not hold a man's fate in my hands to-"

"To do what? To accomplish your goal? I tell you if you do not engage in the cunning of the court then you will not progress in the consciousness of the court itself. In order to become a Beloved, it is necessary that some men curse your memory to balance those who will praise your beauty and accomplishments."

"I don't want to have anyone curse my memory. But if this is the best way to advance myself."

"I assure you there is no other."

So on one of her encounters with a particularly talkative patron, Asha listened carefully to the man's conversation. Lord Bashkir was a tall, thin, lively man who lay restlessly on the couch in the apartment where he was staying, waving his wine cup as he talked.

"It is good to come up here to the Palace Apartments and relax once or twice; to escape Court. And when you are with such a diverting companion…" he tipped his goblet to her "It makes it all the more pleasurable."

Asha plucked a string of her mandolin thoughtfully "It must be so tiring at Court. Of course, I can only imagine what it must be like, but it must be so…claustrophobic."

Bashkir gulped his wine morosely "You are well out of it. There is one in particular who is causing us headache – Lord Tarakam. A recent favourite of the King – and doesn't he know it! He's the most cocksure young braggart I've ever seen at court!"

Asha played a little melody quickly "Why should he have the favour of the king? I have met his majesty only once, but he did not seem the sort to suffer fools."

The lord stroked the delicate gold tracery on the goblet "I would not have thought him so either; but it seems that Tarakam has been instrumental in brokering a new agreement with those Ahura dogs in the north."

"The Ahura? I don't believe I have heard of them."

"A sect of Holy Warriors whose land borders Lake Gharami. They claim that they are ordained by Ormazd himself – but was it they who found his temple in the desert? No! Is it they who have an empire that stretches hundreds of leagues from east to west and north to south? No! It is we, the Parsi, who are in Ormazd's favour! But it seems that the Ahura are damnably lucky! No famine befalls their lands, no drought, no plague – and their fighting prowess is legendary. And yet they do not use this potential, but keep to their own little lands near the fertile coast of the lake, on the edge of the desert."

Asha gazed at him serenely, though in truth her interest and surprise was heightened. She had never heard of the Ahura before, and they sounded quite fascinating, if an upstart nation as Bashkir clearly thought them. She strummed again on her mandolin "And what of this deal? What agreement do we make with the Ahura?"

"We have an alliance, of sorts, and we pay them tribute. Can you imagine? Us, pay tribute to a people of priests and scholars who watch the stars of Ormazd and say they know the future!"

"And in return?"

"Well, just that. They warn us about droughts, famine, disasters that arise. And they always appear to be right. Our own astrologers are never so accurate."

"And Lord Tarakam organised this new deal with them? He was sent as a diplomat? What qualifies him over everyone else, especially my good Lord Bashkir?"

"Only that he is the biggest sycophant this side of the Alshan River. But outside of Court he is the epitome of a braggart…I pity any of your colleagues that have to deal with him – he would probably boast that he would better them at their arts! And when he arrives back with a vastly reduced agreed sum and a promise to send us prophecies in full every month, the King congratulates him with a Royal Hunt in his honour and promotes him to Overseer of Royal Works at the necropolis."

Asha remembered visiting the necropolis when she was younger, and seeing the silent rows of mausolea in the grey dust of the desert – said to be the ashes of those too poor to buy a funeral. Great stone houses of the desert decorated with sphinxes and shedu, each one was dedicated to a noble family or in some cases one great Lord. They lined the route to the Royal Tombs which were carved into caves near the capital, the houses of the royal dead that were kept alight with straw torches by a small army of caretakers. The tombs of past monarchs were only surpassed by the palaces of those still living – Asha had heard that they contained not only throne rooms and treasure houses, but perfectly ordinary kitchens and cellars and servants quarters. In the old days all a king's servants had been buried with him, but the barbaric practice had died with them. Being made overseer of the building of new royal tombs was a great honour – they had to be constructed during the king's life.

"Well, this is fascinating," she said, putting down the mandolin and fanning herself "As I have heard that a _considerable _consignment of marble has gone missing from the site of the King's Tomb. Of course, there are always oversights in construction, I understand, but for such a _valuable _commodity to go missing – and in such a quantity. I do hope that the new Overseer knows about it…"

Lord Bashkir looked at her over the rim of his goblet "Is that so?"

Well it wasn't quite a lie. Asha had indeed overheard some eunuchs discussing the new Overseer and his efforts – and in particular that a consignment had gone missing. It was not marble, and it was not terribly large, but it would do for her purpose. Rumour, she had decided, was a most effective tool. She almost shivered with the pleasure of her manipulation.

"Indeed," she said, fluttering her fan "It may just be coincidence of course. It is most unlucky; let us hope that such events do not happen again."

Lord Bashkir smiled at her and put his wine cup aside "Indeed. But enough talk of Lord Tarakam. I have had more than my fill of wine – can you play anything other than that mandolin?"

Asha snapped her fan shut and pretended to be amused by his crudeness. Putting the mandolin to one side and the fan to the other, she pulled off the colourful sash around her waist and slipped off her robe that she had undone previously. Bashkir's smile widened in appreciation. Rising from her kneeling position on the cushions, she went to him, pleased at her power over him.

And so she continued to suggest and imply among her various visitors, and she soon realised that Lord Tarakam was a bugbear to most of the court, and the men who came to visit her were eager to lap up her rumours. And more and more the news she gathered from them seemed to confirm her successes – Tarakam's stock seemed to be going down, as rumours of mismanagement and profiteering circled around him. Asha told Hanami about how a royal inquest into the works at the necropolis had been launched by the King, anxious to ensure that both his tomb was being built properly and that there was no corruption being employed by his new Overseer. The news was that the King was desperate not to look like he had made a rushed decision over the new employment, and while he was hoping that Tarakam would be cleared he could not ignore the rumours that were fluttering around court – the rumours that Asha had set in motion. And while she found it exciting and exhilarating she could not stave off a strange sense of fear – not because of Tarakam's fate, although a little part of her feared for that, but because of the path that she had chosen to take. She would just need to wait and see what happened next.

So she was very much surprised when her new encounter turned out to be the man himself. She was ushered into a very ordinary salon (that is, with silver finishing rather than gold, and red and orange silk rather than the more expensive dyes of purple and blue). Lord Tarakam was a youngish man, possibly just under thirty, with fierce flashing eyes and a hawkish face – she could see that he would be right in boasting of his looks, at least. He had oiled black hair that hung over his forehead in wetted tendrils. His eyes were panicked and dark circles were evidence of his troubles. He was not wearing a robe, but instead a cotton shirt and dark trousers, the only demonstration of his rank the golden medallion around his neck, the jewelled slippers on his feet and the ring that declared his status as Overseer on his right hand. He was holding a goblet, and was evidently quite drunk.

"Play me something," he said hoarsely "There's a lyre there." He pointed.

"I am sorry my Lord, but I have been trained in the mandolin and the hand drums."

"It has strings does it not?" he took a draught of his wine "Surely it cannot be so different. Here, I will show you." He picked up the lyre and played a series of notes that seemed discordant, as they were blurred by his drunkenness. He uttered an exclamation and cast it to one side; the delicate wood snapped and the strings split, making an oddly comical noise as they did so. Asha did not smile or react however, but transferred her gaze from the stricken instrument to Tarakam's face.

"I have other talents my Lord," she said calmly "Perhaps I can massage your back? You seem cast down by worries."

"Yes, yes, do so," muttered Tarakam. He sat on the floor on some silk cushions, and she moved behind him, and began to soothe the knotted muscles of his back, moving her hands delicately but with precision and purpose. He sighed, satisfied.

"What ails you, Lord?" she asked as she worked her hands over his back.

"Nothing that I can explain. It is the normal court politics that all must endure."

"Will you not ease your problems? Tell me how the court attacks you."

He fiddled with the ring on his hand "This is the source of my troubles. I was made the Overseer of the Royal Works at the necropolis several months ago. It was a great honour, but jealous men among the court have spread rumour about me – that I sell commodities that are to be kept for the King's Tomb, that I allow materials to be 'lost' so that my staff and I can make a profit."

"This is dreadful!"

"And moreover, an inquest has been launched into my practices."

"Ah! Then that will surely make clear your innocence to all. You have nothing to fear!"

He played with his ring again "Yet, I cannot account for it all. It is true that consignments have gone missing – but much smaller amounts than my detractors attest. I don't know what happens to it, whether it is sold or just lost or dumped."

"I know that you will be found innocent. What I would advise is…"

Immediately she knew that she had made a misstep. The muscles in his back tensed, and his breathing became slow and intense. "What do you say? Do you presume to _advise _me?" He leapt to his feet and turned to face her, his fierce eyes blazing at her. "It is you and your kind that destroy men like me! It is these snakes that invade the court!" He grabbed her wrist and pulled her up, putting his other hand around her mouth and pulling her close to him. He kissed her fiercely and then withdrew, looking at her in disgust.

"I can almost taste your poison. Get out of my sight."

Pushing her away from him he grabbed the silver bell beside him, and rang it sharply. After a moment the door in the wall opened, and a eunuch stood there, puzzled at the short duration of the visit. She went towards him, as Lord Tarakam took another goblet of wine "I will not be requiring any company this evening," he said loudly "Take her away please."

The eunuch shepherded her away quickly, not asking what had happened, which she was glad of. The journey back to the cage flashed by, and before she knew it she was back in her apartment and Hanami was taking her back to her suite of rooms. The maid fussed over her and pulled off the robe and was taking the pins and combs out of her hair. But Asha was just frozen; she was oblivious to Hanami's questions and entreaties to her to answer her. At last she heard the door click as the maid left the room, and Asha dressed in her night clothes and got into bed, staring into the darkness as she remembered the words Tarakam had said to her, but more than that the truth they wakened in her heart. She remembered his strange eyes, burning into hers. At last, she drifted into a fitful sleep.

Later in the month, the inquest had reached its verdict and Tarakam was found guilty. Hanami told her that he had been executed; but her next visitor told her about it gleefully.

"Shaking with terror," he said happily – a fat man in a turban with a long black beard "He tried to appeal to the King, but His Majesty was steadfast in his ruling. He had to be restrained as the executioner raised the scimitar and brought it out! Done! In one clean sweep."

He chortled as he re-filled his goblet with wine "And good riddance. Your move my dear," he sucked on a large hookah as he sprawled on the cushions. Asha looked at the game board in front of her, selected a piece and moved it to a relevant square.

"Check," she said. The man looked at the board, and then at her benevolently.

"That's not check, my dear," he chuckled "But this," as he grasped an ivory figurine in a meaty paw "Is checkmate."


	9. The Little Warrior

Note to readers: I really apologise for the lack of a new chapter for a good while. I've had some problem with getting a word processing programme on my laptop, but didn't realise I had Microsoft Works, which is a good stopgap programme until I can get MS Office again. This one was originally going to be longer, but I decided to shorten it so that I would make an update today. Thank you all for reading!

* * *

The execution of Lord Tarakam haunted Asha for weeks afterwards, but eventually she managed to stop the ghosts whenever she looked in a mirror or the reflective surface of a dish or a cup. It was something in her eyes that reminded her of him – her own soft brown ones turned into the fierce tawny that his had been; blazing at her, accusing her. She hardly dared to listen to what her visitors told her about him; about the wife he'd left behind, who had been found drowned in the river. That was one of the things that shocked her more even than Tarakam's execution; that she had driven a woman to suicide.

Maintaining her veneer of calm and elegance when entertaining her guests was difficult in itself, but all the time she was thinking whether or not to act on Hanami's advice.

"Capitalise on this," the maid had said "You know how to destroy a reputation and influence the mind of the court. Try again. Pick another target!"

This was unwelcome advice, but Asha listened as the maid told her again how the only way that she could exercise influence and control was by destroying or raising men to power as she saw fit. "You pull the strings, you push the levers," Hanami had said while massaging Asha's back "You are in control of these men. They practically _want_ you to exercise your power over them."

All Asha could imagine from that statement was herself as a spider, sitting in the middle of the web, waiting to trap her prey. It upset her terribly, and even fell ill for several weeks. As usual, Hanami sat by her side with cold clothes and bottles of salves and ointments to spread on her chest and improve her fevered breathing. Hanami seemed to realise that her advice was in part responsible, and she was resolutely silent as Asha tossed and turned on her bed.

Gradually, Asha recovered her health and was plucking again at the strings of court politics. She waited and listened for a new target to either elevate or cast down. Who to champion, and who to castigate? As the indecision wracked her, Hanami could see that while Asha was smiling and gracious in public, in private she was grave and taciturn. So she was very surprised to find a large woven reed box sitting on a table in her apartments, with a collection of fresh flowers sitting on top. She took the blossoms off, and stroked them in her hands as she smelt their delicate perfumes.

Hanami came in 'Open it then,' she said, indicating the box 'It's for you.'

Asha edged the lid off and looked inside. Sitting in the box was a kitten with long fluffy white hair and a curiously flattened face. It mewed at her and she lifted it out and held it in the air, before holding it to her breast. It complied without complaint, and pressed a paw against her arm.

'Who is it from?' she asked, cradling the animal.

'Me. I remembered that you said you had a cat before you came here. This is a present. You have been so unhappy recently, and I thought perhaps an interest other than navigating the court might help.'

Asha nodded, fondling the cat.

'What will you call him?'

'I don't know.'

'What about your father's name?' Hanami said cautiously, waiting for a reaction. She didn't get one.

'No. I don't think so,' Asha stared at the floor, deep in thought 'How about Zahn?'

'The mythical hero?' Hanami came forward and chucked the kitten under his chin. He mewled pathetically.

'He's not much of a warrior is he?' she said, smiling.

Asha smiled back 'He's wonderful. Thank you Hanami.'

'You're welcome. I've prepared him a basket and blankets and told the kitchen that we will need milk and fish for him. All is ready.' Hanami smiled and stepped away into the interior of the apartment.

Asha scratched the kitten's head. He stayed silent for once, looking around his new home. His ears flicked and he looked towards an archway to their right. Bazan entered, holding a letter and a slim knife with which she had slit the seal. The paper of the letter hung from her hand, she had already read it.

'What's that?' she said.

'My maid had a kitten bought for me. Isn't he beautiful?'

Bazan looked at the kitten with distaste.

'I hope he won't be running around the apartment. I cannot bear animals.'

'Do not worry, I will keep him under control. You have received a letter?'

Bazan looked at the letter in her hand 'Yes.'

For a moment Asha saw her mouth twitch at one corner.

'What does it say?'

Bazan seemed to be struggling to breathe, and her shoulders were shaking. Asha placed the kitten back in the box and went over to her. Bazan's hand was shaking so much that Asha nearly lost a finger taking the knife from her. She dropped the letter and suddenly collapsed to the ground, crouching and leaning by the doorpost. Asha had to moved down to support her, and cursed inwardly as she felt the elaborate construction of her hair begin to unravel. She looked into the now tearing eyes of Bazan.

'My mother is dead,' she whispered 'My mother is dead.'


	10. A Prince of the Realm

It seemed that it was only retirement or death that could release a woman from the Bird Cage. Either her death or that of a parent or a sibling allowed escape; one was permanent, the other temporary. It was the only evidence of compassion that Asha had seen from the bureaucracy of the cage. She watched Bazan leave in her funerary robes and wearing her veil, going on a caravan east to see her mother buried.

It transpired that Bazan's mother had died after a fall from her horse while out hunting deer - something a Parsi woman would not have been able to do. After Bazan had gone, Asha sat alone on her bed with Zahn and watched him play with the ball that had belonged to her cat, listening to the bells jingling as he batted it back and forth. She now thought less and less about her parents, as the business of raising her stock among the men of the court now occupied most of her time and her thoughts. But now that she thought that the last time she would see them; she would not be able to speak to them or hold them when she did. That was one of the cruellest moments of her life, as she sat there watching the kitten play. She shed a few tears as she did so, and the kitten clambered over to her and pushed his furry face into hers, licking her nose. She laughed, and tried to forget about what she had just thought.

Zahn proved an excellent distraction. She fed him scraps of chicken and cooked fish while she ate fruit when he was hungry, and tickled him when he wanted to play. He watched her do her calligraphy and got into her scroll box and scattered brushes and inks everywhere. Hanami tutted and sent for cloths to wipe up the spreading pools of colour, but Asha hugged the kitten and painted a picture of him so that he could look at himself, which he did, signing it with his paw prints.

A month or so later, Bazan returned from the funeral from Azgabarah with a composure that seemed if anything as icy has it had been before. There was no apparent change, she expressed no emotion other than that first outpouring of grief that Asha had herself witnessed. She settled back into the old routine, meeting visitors in the evening and bullying Sharza by day. Again her encounters with Asha were few and far between; and Asha preferred it that way.

As far as meeting guests went, Asha continued to manipulate the court and courtiers. She did so without the guilt and shame that she had once had, and continued, with Hanami's guidance to look upon it as her duty, and her right. Her liberty had been taken from her, and so in return she would control the lives of her captors. She had not chosen any for elevation in her eyes, but instead continued to find ones that were weakened by the rumours that she spread. She didn't have to work very hard to invent the rumours, as the court gossip did much of the work for her.

She still wasn't sure what she thought of pleasing the men who came to visit her, but she always listened to what Hanami said. One of her favourite sayings was this - "While you need many successes to build a reputation, just one misstep can destroy it utterly."

It was true she thought. And sometimes the biggest missteps her visitors made was to have her entertain him. She lost count of those that she either cast down or that she elevated. Life settled into a strange kind of normality. There was nothing that was out of the ordinary in her life any more. She enjoyed the company of Hanami and Zahn in her apartment, she painted and wrote poetry in her spare time, she practiced her mandolin and her dancing.

There was nothing to break the monotony, that was the problem. No goal to strive for, no ultimate end in sight. It was as if the same stale day was repeated over and again. But rather than complain about it and fall into misery as she might once have done, she continued with the routine.

But there was one visit that completely shattered her routine.

The first clue that she got was the attitude of the eunuch that led her along the brick-lined passages on inside the walls of the palace. He kept looking back at her curiously as they walked and giggled throatily into his sleeves. All eunuchs displayed some strange tendencies, but this one was extraordinary. When they reached the barely-visible rectangle of brick where her visitor waited, he gave her one last searching look from under plucked eyebrows, and with a certain dramatic flourish pulled a candelabra a beside the concealed entrance.

"Your guest awaits, Majesty," he said, and giggled again. She gave him a bemused stare, and stepped inside.

The room beyond was swathed in silk curtains and fine metalwork lamps. It was very much like the many of the others that she had visited before, and so that didn't explain the eunuch's behaviour. It could only be her visitor that had caused it. So, who could that be?

Someone coughed quietly behind her and she turned around. The man behind her was familiar. She had scrutinised his face on several occasions while in the safe anonymity of a crowd. He had grown with her through the years that she had served in the palace, would probably be of an age with her by her guess.

But she knew what to do. She fell to her knees, robes flowing impressively around her, and bowed her head to the floor.

"Your Majesty. I am honoured to be in your presence."

The Crown Prince Daros came forward towards her.

"You may sit up."

She did so, and looked into his face. She had never marked his features close too before, and allowed herself the luxury now. His deep brown eyes looked back into hers searchingly, lying above a near perfect nose and generous mouth. His black hair was in two long sleek sweeps either side of his head. He wore a tight silk jerkin and trousers, and wore a gold chain around his neck with a royal seal on it.

"How may I entertain your Majesty?"

He looked slightly confused "What can you do?"

"It is for you to decide. You may instruct me as your will commands."

"I would not wish to mistakenly ask you to demonstrate your faults. Show me one of your talents, which I am sure are without limit," he said shyly "We have many different things here."

"Well, I can play the mandolin for you. I can play very well."

There was a slightly embarrassed pause between the two of them. Asha waited for a moment and then reached for the mandolin that was resting beside a small eight-sided table. She could almost pluck the strings when he reached forward and grasped her wrist. It wasn't painful, but she could feel him trembling.

"Perhaps not at the moment then," she said. He let her wrist go, slowly. She could feel the sweat of his palm.

"What would-" she started to say, but he leaned forward and kissed her hard on the mouth. She had of course been kissed before but this was different; far from the drunken attempts of various lords and courtiers who were her usual guests. This kiss was tremulous and nervous, as if he was afraid of committing some great wrong in doing so. She felt his long eyelashes flutter against her cheek.

She felt something that she hadn't felt for a long time, probably since she had come to the palace. It was pure elation. And perhaps for the first time in her life she had power, and over a man. She was in a position where _she_ had the power and _she_ could direct him! He withdrew and looked at her with his deep eyes. He blinked, worriedly.

"Was that…satisfactory?" She had thought correctly. He was worried about his performance.

"While it would be a breech of protocol to disagree with my future king, I can assure his majesty that it was indeed satisfactory." She said this with a slight smile.

He leaned back in again, and she came in to meet him, eyes closed in ecstasy.


	11. Does Love Conquer All?

Asha's eyes snapped open. The darkened room was unfamiliar to her. Then lanterns had long since hissed out, and the lustrous curtains and fine furniture could no longer be seen.

The warmth of his body against hers was both welcome and stifling. She couldn't decide whether she wanted to emerge from the tangle of body and cushions and blankets. One arm was lying limply across her stomach, she noticed the strong muscles as they held her in his embrace.

She had never woken up with a man before. Usually they committed whatever acts her guest demanded, and he fell asleep, so that she could get dressed and show herself out. She had never _slept _with a man before. His breath ruffled her hair, now untied from its delicate ribbons and left to flow loose across her neck.

Carefully, she edged out from under the blankets, but took one for herself, draping it around her to shield her from the cold of the unheated room. She took a taper and re-lit some of the lamps that hung from the ceiling, warming her hands at one of them. Once she had coaxed some warmth back into her hands, she turned back to look at him. He hadn't stirred from where he was lying, and now that they weren't otherwise engaged she could look properly at his finely muscled legs and chest.

She turned her attention to their clothes that had been strewn around the room in their haste. With great care, she separated them into two piles; hers turned out to be rather larger than his. She began to dress, relishing the experience somewhat. She had never had to dress herself before, as there had always been a servant or maid there to help her. She managed to get the robe on properly, and tied the silk belt in a suitable knot. She put on her slippers and then tucked the ribbons into the belt. She would not be able to tie them rang the silver bell to alert a waiting eunuch. After a little moment the secret door slide back, revealing a yawning eunuch. It was not the same one that had escorted her the previous evening, but had clearly been waiting a long time.

"Finished with his Highness have you?" he said, too tired to observe the normal subordination due to a favoured concubine "Come along, you should leave him to his rest."

Asha glanced back at Daros, still asleep among the disorder of cushions and blankets. Then she turned back to the eunuch, and he shut the door. Yawning pointedly, he led her off down the brick-built hallways. She wondered why he didn't ask any questions, but then remembered that he'd probably been listening anyway.

When they re-emerged into the Cage it was dawn. Asha had never really seen it at this time, she was more used to coming back from her guests still cloaked in the dead of night. A few early birds swooped around the open central courtyard, calling to each other in courtship.

Seeing the bright sunlight on the plants below and the whirring wings of the birds above made her feel inexpressively happy. She watched all that was going on around her with joy, noting the manner in which the birds sang together and perched on the carved wooden loggia side by side.

The eunuch seemed to notice this and began walking more quickly around to the House of the Blossoming Blooms towards the apartment. Once he reached it, he unlocked the door, opened it and ushered her inside. The door clicked shut and Asha was left by herself. She re-arranged her robe carefully and then stole along the corridor to her apartment. There was a movement in the dim shadows and the little figure of Zahn padded out and came up to her, butting her leg with his head and mewling to be picked up. The door to Hanami's room slid open and the maid came out, stretching and looking tired.

"There you are! I was expecting you back hours ago, where have you been?"

"I stayed rather longer than I had expected to…"

Hanami's face became a little drawn "Oh you poor thing. It is awful when they take too long. But there's lots of things you can do, remember, you can…"

Asha held up a hand "Hanami, no, it wasn't anything like that. I…I could not help but stay."

"Who was it then, that you should have been enticed so to stay with him?"

"It was the Crown Prince Daros."

Hanami's hands flew to her mouth in surprise. Her shock and joy showed on her delighted face.

"That is wonderful! You see? This is what we hoped for!" she came forward and took the ribbons from Asha's belt, tucking them in a pocket "You must have grown so much in the court's estimation. Perhaps you were recommended to his majesty by the courtiers!"

Asha stayed silent while Hanami bustled her into her room and began to help her remove her clothes, ready to get washed. The maid kept on chattering, but Asha did not really listen to her. Her joy had settled in her breast now, far less exciting and buoyant and just warming to her. But she came back to reality when she heard Hanami say;

"But of course this is no guarantee of your success. You must not think that because you have had the honour to entertain the Crown Prince that you will become Queen…"

"Why?"

Hanami paused in pouring a bucket of hot water into the marble bathtub "I'm sorry? The men of the Royal Family enjoy many of the concubines here. What makes you think that, if you do not continue to navigate the court, you will be his Majesty's chosen woman?"

"I was his first!"

"And do you think that matters? Men may always remember their first time, but they may not remember their first woman! You are going to have to fight to make sure that you can attain a position of power…"

"Fight? With who? Who is there that can compare with me?"

"Very confident," Hanami chuckled "But men's tastes change!"

"He _will _remember me! The way he looked at me! The way we made love…"

"Making love does not equal love. You should know that by now. Come, I will help you bathe and then you can sleep. You must be tired," Hanami sprinkled a bottle of perfumed oil into the bath, which spread over the surface of the water in fragrant clouds.

Asha obeyed, but remained somewhat sullen, anger and irritation dislodging the joy that she had felt only minutes before. How could Hanami know the truth about what had happened between them. How could she predict the future of their relationship? How could she put a limit on her success?

She sat morosely in the warm bath water as Hanami soaked a sponge and washed the sweat and stale perfume from her skin. Even the beautiful scent of the bath oils did not make her happier. Soon, Hanami had finished and replaced the sponge. She fetched a towel and held it out so that Asha could wrap herself in it.

"Shall we not bother with the cosmetics today?" said Hanami, falsely bright "Just you dry yourself off and you can go to bed."

Asha assented with a taciturn nod, and went through to her dressing room to pick out a sleeping robe. She selected one of purple silk patterned with doves and pine cones, and finished drying her long hair. Then she slipped into the robe and tied it up. Despite the fact that she had slept already, she was quite tired. She gave her hair a quick brush, and then stepped quietly through to her bedroom.

Zahn was cleaning himself on the rug beside the bed, and Asha picked him up and cuddled him close. Then she put him in the basket that sat on top of the clothes chest at the foot of her bed. He yawned sleepily and burrowed into the tiny embroidered cushions that lined it. Asha however could not sleep. She lay back staring at the carved ceiling of the room, thinking of the warmth that she had shared with Daros. There was no doubt in her mind of their shared connection. She missed the almost stifling heat of him, would rather have that than cold sheets underneath her.

She drifted into sleep, lulled by the memory of his strong arms, his tremulous voice and the soft, dark pools of his eyes.


	12. Secret Love in Moonlit Gardens

Despite Hamani's reservations, Asha spent the next few days in a dream. She had heard of lovesickness in the poetry they had read, but had never imagined that she might experience it. But here it was; a strange light-headed feeling when she thought about him, while a strange smile played on her lips. She couldn't settle to anything, whether it was poetry or painting, or even taking a walk around the balconies of the Cage. If she did any of these things, sometimes she would just stop, ink dripping from her brush or pausing in her steps to look out into the courtyard garden. Sometimes she would stay still for several minutes thinking of him, drawing some comment from the other women walking around the courtyard.

To distract her somewhat, Hanami began to teach her to sew and embroider. Asha took to it quickly and easily, finding more pleasure than she had thought possible in creating patterns on scraps of silk and linen that Hanami brought from her. To begin with they practised simple geometric patterns but soon she was decorating them with birds and flowers as easily as she might in ink on paper. But although her talent at her new hobby grew rapidly, so too did her boredom with it. After a few weeks she hardly picked up the new sewing kit that she had been given.

Oddly though, there was little else for her to do. She wasn't called for an engagement with a lord or a courtier at all - the change in the routine was restful, but somewhat worrying too. Usually she had quite a steady run of encounters, but the weeks passed without a scroll arriving on the central table of the apartment for her. She could tell that Hanami was concerned by this, by the thought that Asha might have displeased the Crown Prince and so have fallen out of favour.

But their fears were, finally, allayed. A scroll appeared one morning for Asha, one cool clear morning at the start of the first month of the autumn. The two of them read it together with Zahn playing around their legs. She was to be prepared for an engagement that night.

At once Hanami quickly prepared Asha's first and only meal of the day - glazed peaches with sweet flatbreads, completed with a salad of mint and yoghurt so that her breath smelt sweet. Then she was bathed and perfumed, her skin softened with creams and burnished with soft brushes. A hairdresser and cosmetician were called to the apartment, and Hanami helped them warm combs and mix paints. Asha submitted to all this with her usual deference, but as she automatically moved her body for the servants to do their duties she thought about the evening ahead. Who would it be? Her heart willed her guess to be true.

The mint still strong on her breath, she strode after one of the eunuchs who trotted ahead of her. She tried to guess from his actions whether her prediction might be true or not, but evidently this one was somewhat more professional in his conduct than the one who had accompanied her some weeks ago. As they proceeded through the brick built chambers of the inner walls of the palace, she wrung her hands nervously, wondering just whether she might be lucky, or whether she would be disappointed.

She was by now somewhat familiar with the warm corridors, but while she recognised some paths and routes up and down the staircases and through the jinking passages, she would never have been able to find her way back to the Cage. She walked with an awareness that she had not had before, trying to recognise the way they were going - but it was no use. She had to wait and see if her hopes were proved right.

Finally, the familiar slowing of the eunuch's pace signalled to her that they were near their destination. Smartly, he stepped to face her and pulled on the iron lamp beside him. As usual, the brick wall slid aside. He nodded to her, the sign of one servant to another. She stepped inside and looked around the room. It was one of the very ordinary entertaining rooms, hung about with swathes of silk curtains and decorated with wooden fretwork and beaded cushions - unremarkable, and not unusual.

He was there. He stood with a new confidence that he had not had the last time she had seen him. He looked pleased and moved towards her, while she sat down on one of the soft couches that sat around the room. He sat down next to her.

'You wanted to see me again?' she asked.

'Yes.'

'Why?'

His brow furrowed. 'Don't men often want to see you again?'

'It is unusual,' something prompted a question 'How are we selected?'

'What do you mean?'

'How do men choose a concubine for their entertainment?'

'There are records. Descriptions, talents, family history. These are all the details that I looked at to choose a girl for…entertainment.'

'So why me?'

He shrugged 'There are good reports of you. The lords talk among themselves about the best concubines - for all kinds of reasons,' he said hurriedly 'For their conversation, their dancing, their musical talents…'

'So on what basis, then, was I chosen?'

He blushed. Asha looked at him fiercely, then decided that he needed no more persecution from her. But she was beginning to wonder what his motives were behind wanting to see her again. Suddenly, he took her hand in his.

'What would you like to do?'

'I don't get to ask that.'

'But I am asking you. What is it you want to do?'

She looked down at the floor 'I know my place. I do not dictate my guests actions; they dictate mine.'

He was still for a moment. Then he drew her close and whispered in her ear 'Shall we leave this room?'

She was startled 'We can't. I am not allowed access to the rest of the palace except under guard and with the other concubines.'

'I don't care. We can avoid the guards, we can explore the palace, the gardens - everything! Come with me!' he smiled hugely.

Asha looked into his brown eyes and nodded. He leapt up and pulled a curtain roughly to the side, revealing a wooden door with an intricate lock set in it.

'We're locked in?'

'I imagine that people have tried to steal concubines before. But these locks are built for show rather than efficiency,' he examined it carefully, and then pulled the decorated cover off the lock box. He manipulated a few of the bars inside, and eased the bolt back. Then he clicked the cover back on.

Asha looked at him amazed.

'A prince's education involves much more than poetry and etiquette,' he smiled.

Together, they looked out of the doorway and up and down the corridor outside. There was no one about. Daros took her hand in his and led her out, closing the door behind him, and took her down the corridor. They passed other doors to other entertainment rooms, and heard the music and the voices inside. The corridor ended in a large octagonal chamber, lit by a large metalwork lamp that hung overhead.

'This way,' he said, and took her down another corridor that smelt of the fresh air of the outside. They reached a fretwork door in wood and ivory, which he pushed open with a click. They exited it into a loggia running along along the wall of the palace. Beyond, long buildings behind lush flower gardens were visible in the moonlight, and tall towers and minarets forested the sky above. Small points of yellow torchlight moved around the loggias, windows and towers in front of them. The night air was scented with jasmine and clematis, with the smell of wood smoke from the gardens wafting onto the balcony.

They stole along the balcony to a marble staircase that that led down into the soft grass and the flowerbeds and fountains of the courtyard garden. Not only could she smell the flowers and the aromatic leaves, but the raw smell of the soil in the beds. This was real, not the restrained cultivation of the courtyard of the Cage. There was a rustle from a clump of bushes and a peacock emerged onto the grass, rustling his tail feathers into the high fan.

They watched as he lowered them again and stalked into a flowerbed. They moved off through the gardens again as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the roosting birds that lived in the gardens. Some bats flapped through the air looking for insects, but neither of them were broke their step, making it across to another building without having been seen. Next to the wall of the building, where decorated alcoves were carved, he stopped and pulled her into one.

'What do you think?'

'It's…it's wonderful!'

He smiled with pleasure 'Where do you want to go next?'

'I love this garden, but it's so small and tame. Can't we get to the palace garden? Across the Royal Ponds?'

He pursed his lips 'It's possible, but dangerous. We'll need to go through the main palace with the throne room and audience chambers. There may still be scribes up at this time of night, and of course there are the guards…'

'I trust you.'

They smiled at each other in the darkness. Then he led her to another marble staircase, a double one this time that swept in two flights up to a terrace where moonlight glittered on polished marble.

They froze against the wall as the slow ponderous footsteps of a guard passed by above them. He was singing under his breath. Daros sidled silently up the staircase and looked through the balustrade. Then he beckoned Asha forward; the guard was standing with his back to them, holding a large thrusting spear. They stepped carefully across the marble tiles into another loggia, into the shadows beyond.

They ran on over the cool marble, making their way to a large door lit by two flaring torches. They pushed it open, and entered the mosaic covered floors and walls of a corridor. In here the furniture and the lamps were far more ornate; gold and silver replaced bronze and iron, colourful mosaics in place of the muted tones of terracotta and stone tiles. There were not just low-ceilinged corridors, they passed into pillared halls and courts. They hid in alcoves from guards and stole past the doors of offices and treasure halls, and passed from pillar to pillar among the shafts of light thrown by the arched clerestory windows. At one point they came to a huge round window with the frame worked in gold leaf and expensive coloured glass - Daros had to pull Asha away from the beautiful construction before a guard found her staring at its perfect proportions and the play of light on the marble tiles.

The breeze stirred Asha's robes as they ran, and she knew that they must be nearing the great decorated portal that led to the palace gardens. Then there it was; a great dark expanse in the wall of the palace, speckled with the lights of stars in the sky. There were no guards around, and they walked out onto the bridge that spanned high above the ponds where the pale shapes of swans nested on the banks of the ponds. The night air was silent but for the breeze in the trees ahead. They left the bridge, and Asha let go of Daros's hand. She walked to the nearest tree and ran her hand over the trunk. She went from tree to tree, touching the bark and gathering up the leaves that had already fallen.

Daros caught up with her and took her to the pavilions that lay secretly among the trees. Some were open to the sky, like the one where she had watched plays and poetry readings before, and swathed with swags of coloured silk wrapped around their columns. Others were small with round domes and patterned floors, with braziers ready for the preparation of tea and food.

They ended up in a pavilion near the Royal Ponds, and Daros showed her a secret compartment in the inlaid wooden floor where the equipment and ingrediants for the preparation of tea were kept. There was a small fountain some way from the pavilion, and while he fetched water she arranged the tea things and lit several candles which she set on some saucers. They stirred up the coals and set the pot to boil, and then they sat there, drinking their tea by candlelight.

She had thought the gardens silent, but she could see birds flitting from tree to tree, rustling in the branches. At one point, a small herd of deer of about six or seven individuals walked out of the trees, searching for fresh grass to crop.

'There are wild animals in the gardens?' she said to him.

'Oh yes. They are just for ornamentation.'

How like me, Asha thought. A wild creature that is kept in a beautiful place, but with no real freedom. At least the deer can wander all over the gardens. I must stay in my apartment until I am called upon.

They finished their tea and began to wander back to the bridge to the palace through the dawn-tinged gardens. They pushed through the leafy branches following the paths haphazardly, enjoying the scents that wafted from the foliage.

They were enjoying it, until they rounded a corner and almost walked into a guard, holding a large halberd in his right hand.

All three of them stared at each other in shock. Asha saw anger and doubt pass over the guard's face, and then fear.

'My lord…'

Daros grabbed her hand and pulled her into the cover of the trees. They sprinted towards the bridge, but the shouts of other guards who had not recognised Daros's figure were close behind them. But Asha, constricted by the complicated robes, could hardly keep upright. Finally she tripped and pushed them both into a clump of aromatic bushes. Daros looked at her robes critically, knowing that they were the problem.

'We'll have to make a few alterations,' he said 'Hold still.'

He tugged and ripped the robes so that they left her legs bare and free to run. Asha looked down in horror at the flapping shreds and loose threads, but there was no time for complaint - he pulled her to her feet and they both made for the bridge. Guarding the portal to the palace, were three guards with their halberds at the ready. They faltered at the sight of Daros's face, but he leapt from the parapet of the bridge and onto the fine stone fretwork of the palace. He began to climb up towards the roof.

That left Asha standing in front of them. The guards suddenly looked a lot less afraid. She kicked off her beaded slippers and climbed onto the parapet, and began climbing after Daros. She threw an arm over the edge of the roof, and Daros helped her onto the flat stone.

'This,' she said 'Is a little less romantic.'

He smiled desperately at her 'Come. I'll get you back to the Cage.'

Together they set off across the dawn stained roof, Asha stepping lightly to avoid cutting her delicate feet on the rough stone flags.

There was the shout of warning, and something skimmed over their heads. An arrow hit a dome some feet away and clanged onto the roof.

'They're firing at us?'

Daros grunted 'We're going too slowly. Can't you go any faster?'

'No!'

Daros stopped, grabbed her around the waist, swung her over his shoulder and ran off at full speed towards the Royal Apartments. Jogging on his shoulder Asha could see the archers who had appeared behind them from the Barracks. More arrows whirred over their heads.

'Don't worry,' said Daros as he skidded around another dome 'They won't shoot us. They're trying to herd us into a trap. But I've been climbing on these rooftops since I was six - I know a quick way to the Cage.'

Sure enough, the voices of the archers receded and dropped into silence behind them. Soon, Daros slowed and lifted her down. Before her lay the courtyard of the Cage, soundless as the concubines and their servants had not yet woken to greet the new day.

'Quickly now,' he said 'The lip of the roof overhangs the loggia. You can climb down and get back to your apartment.'

Asha clung to him, unsure if she wanted to climb back into her cage of her own accord, but he pushed her towards the lip of the roof. She swung clumsily, clinging onto his arm. She looked at him angrily, but he pulled her forward again and kissed her.

'Now go.'

Carefully she lowered her bare legs over the roof, wrapped them around a wooden pillar and slid down onto the floor of the loggia. There was no one about, and she stole carefully towards her door. Very carefully, she turned the knob and opened it, slipping into the room.

'Where have you been?'

Hanami was sitting in the gloom, glaring at her.

'Have you been sitting there all night?'

Hanami stood up and stretched. 'Of course not. I dozed off several hours ago. But you have not answered my question. Where have you been? Who was your appointment? And what happened to your robe? And your hair!'

Asha smiled, pulling up the trailing rags of her robe 'It was…perfect, Hanami. Even with archers and guards and a wild dash across the palace rooftops. I shall tell you all about it tomorrow. Now I will sleep.'

Hanami gaped at her. Asha looked back into her astonished face, feeling suddenly powerful and sure of herself. She smiled again demurely.

'All will be well Hanami. I know what my future will be. I have a man who loves me. This will not change. Now prepare me a bath and lay out my sleeping robe.'

The maid, doubt shadowing her face, retreated to Asha's apartment to prepare the bath. Zahn crept out past her, mewling to see his mistress. Asha gathered him up in her arms and breathed in the scent of him.

She was inexpressibly happy. And she knew her future would be also.


	13. Halls of Memory

Over the coming months Daros visited Asha again and again, and each time they escaped from the confines of the entertainment rooms and explored the palace during the night. They climbed the high towers and crept through the cavernous halls and peeked through slim slits in the walls to gaze upon the glittering hoard of the treasure rooms; leapt, and ran, and danced.

As they continued to do so, Asha became aware that the guards acted differently. Those that kept the palace safe at night, and who would usually be on the alert for any strange sound or suspicious movement, seemed positively unwilling to investigate the rare occasions when they made a misstep. Those that looked directly at them turned away promptly, or looked embarrassed and moved so that they would be out of view. There were no more rooftop chases - a fact that made her both relieved and slightly sad.

"Do they know what we are doing?" she asked of Daros once.

"I think so," he said "I have not been formally reprimanded; one of the benefits of being a Crown Prince. I think my case is rather different than it might be if one of the lords tried to sneak a concubine out from the designated areas. After all," he said jokingly "How could I steal something that I will one day own anyway."

Asha said nothing in reply, and perhaps he realised his mistake, but did not say anything further. So their moonlit jaunts were tolerated by the guards, but Asha made sure she always stayed with him while they were out of the entertaining rooms - she was quite sure that the guards would not be so discreet were she on her own.

The palace had seemed wonderful the first time that they had absconded, and this impression never left her. For there was so much to see, and as they started from a different location each time, they almost never traced the same path. The palace was so huge, so all-encompassing that in all the times they explored it, she was left with a wealth of new knowledge and impressions.

Of course, their explorations depended heavily on her. Daros always asked what she wanted to see - sometimes she would have no other wish than to go to the Palace Gardens and drink tea in a silk-swathed pavilion and walk among the herds of tame deer, smelling the scent of the aromatic trees. Other times she asked to see the great, lofty, pillared Halls of a Thousand Years, where individual columns contained doors with spiral staircases leading to balconies nestled at the join between the top of the column and the ceiling - from which an observer could look down on the endless geometric patterns of the times and see a different repeating form every time.

"How old is the palace?" she asked him, while they were walking in the Courtyard of a Hundred Mirrored Skies - not in fact mirrors, but still pools of pure water set in squares, ten by ten, that reflected the stars above them.

"Well, you will have seen the Temple of Ormazd?"

"The little temple that was found in the middle of the desert, from which the _Parsi_ civilisation begins and ends? The little brick built sanctuary?"

"Yes. Well the first parts of the palace were sited some way away from the temple. Most of the older structures are abandoned now - but we are told that some of them are perhaps several thousands of years old."

"Can I see them?"

Daros shook his head "They are very dangerous. Because they are not properly maintained the roofs have collapsed in some places and the upper floors are unstable."

"But you have been there?"

He grinned in reply.

"Then take me!"

He regarded her slowly.

"You must promise to do exactly as I tell you. You cannot wander off, you cannot step where I do not."

"I promise!"

He seemed satisfied with that.

The way to the ancient palace was a strange one. They passed one of the modest, but thronged servants quarters, where the human gears that kept the palace working went to bed too late and awoke too early. There were gangs of them preparing to clean by candlelight, working in one of the great steamy laundries and a room full of women repairing torn silk gowns alongside plain working tunics.

They saw all this via the ventilation shaft that ran through the walls of the buildings, where they could peep out through decorated ventilation plates at the busy people beyond. They emerged into an overgrown courtyard garden, the trees unpruned and vines maintaining a tight grip on the brick walls. Walking through an unobtrusive doorway on the other side of the courtyard, Asha breathed the smell of the ancient dust that drifted from the ruin beyond. It was grainy and gritty, so unlike the scented air of the palace - there was no hint of the surface civilisation that existed there; here the air smelt of the memory of ancient kingship, of the genesis of a kingdom that spanned a continent.

Asha closed her eyes briefly and opened them again as she inhaled the dust like some kind of exotic drug. She thought of those tall, dark men with long hair and beards under cloth caps, glittering eyes over fierce noses, who moved as if only a canvas tent separated them from the starry sky rather than the stone ceiling of their palace. They had come upon a lone temple in the middle of the desert and with the inspiration of a god had grown an empire.

The dark passage beyond the doorway seemed akin to the brick passages through which she was led every time she was engaged for service, but were even more haphazard. Several times they had to turn back where rubble blocked their path or the passage had become twisted in a mess of ceiling and floor and wall, caused by weathering from above and subsidence from below.

Eventually they halted near a pile of rough, broken slabs where there was a small space that they could crawl through. Daros went first, primarily to check that it was safe beyond, but also to remove the thick layer of dust that drifted on the floor. He called through to her, and she got down on her hands and knees and followed him.

The hall beyond was modest in comparison to those that she had seen in the rest of the palace, but the ancient decoration and the gloom gave it its own monumental quality. Plain clerestory windows, open spaces close to the ceiling let in some moonlight where they hadn't been blocked by the broken ceiling. Shadowy pillars extended upwards to the ceiling and back to the far wall, some whole and many pitted and cracked with age. The walls had shallow semi-circular planters set lower into them, still filled with ancient soil which gave the air a strangely organic taste. Some dead creepers snaked up the walls from the planters, but now dead from a lack of water. Asha walked forward a little on the plain marble floor, but Daros caught her by the arm. She stopped and made out the broken edge of the floor and the gaping space beyond.

"There are other floors below," cautioned Daros "and the floors are unstable."

The dust swirled on his breath. The dim light only just illuminated the shadowy pillars away in the distance. There was something intense in the air, something strange and intangible that drew her forward again. She knew at some point she let go of Daros' hand, and then she was walking out further, her beaded slippers pattering softly on the ancient stone. She didn't hear his warning, didn't feel his hand try to grasp at her shoulder.

There was a loud crack. Asha, shocked out of her reverie, looked upwards at as a shower of dust fell in front of her. A huge cracked piece of ceiling shifted in front of her eyes, then tipped towards her, looming over her frail frame. It began to slip forward.

A hand grabbed her round the waist and then she was flying through the air, backwards towards the floor that they had already covered . Dust rose from her landing and a breath later Daros was there, cradling her, protecting her with the curve of his body, shielding her…

The slab creaked and fell, smashing into the floor in an explosion of lumps of rock and tile. The hall was a din of bangs and crashes that mingled with each other in a screeching disharmony. Gradually the echoes died away and the rumbles of the hall settled into a new state of decay overtook them, and then they too faded into their customary silence. Daros uncurled, pulling Asha roughly up with him. He pushed her in the direction of the crawlspace, and she made no hesitation, moving quickly before him and let him crawl through the crack before her. She scuttled back through without any thought for her robes.

She saw him sitting on a pile of rubble outside the crack, breathing hard. The corridor was still dark, but an oil lamp guttered behind them, outlining his silhouette in a harsh yellow light. It flickered as a draught blew through the cold tunnel. She hesitated for a moment, intimated by his angry stillness, then she came forward and perched delicately on the rough stone.

There was silence for a time. Then Asha was alerted by the drip of something on the stone. Blood from a wound on the back of Daros' neck had trickled over his collar and splashed onto the rubble.

"You're hurt!"

She tried to mop away the excess blood with her sleeve, leaving a smear of scarlet on his neck. The wound was not serious and had already begun to clot; it was a fairly minor injury but that did not allay her feelings of guilt and shame.

"A piece of stone must have caught me. It's nothing," he said shortly.

"It is not nothing. It is my fault. I am sorry."

"Sorry? For almost killing both of us! What were you thinking?"

"I don't know…' she faltered 'I don't know what happened."

"Don't you?" he said mockingly "Well that's not surprising. What _do_ you know?"

She looked at him, open mouthed. She was stung by his anger.

"I cannot believe your foolishness! Why did you not follow my instructions? I thought I could trust you here, but apparently I cannot."

"But…"

"I must be able to trust you! If we are…"

He paused. She looked up at him.

"If we are…?" she repeated. He looked coolly back at her.

"There might not be a 'we'" he said.

"Was there ever the possibility that there might be?"

He brushed the question off, standing up to brush the dust off his breeches and shirt. He offered his hand, but not with a smile. "I should take you back. We have spent too long here. The way back is long and complicated."

She took his hand in acquiescence. They made their way back through the rough passages and corridors by light of the smoky lamps. Asha wondered somewhat about this - why would anyone need to light such a derelict part of the palace, although she was very glad of the bright flames that burned in their ancient fittings. But his anger deterred any questions.

They had been walking for about five minutes, when a low wail echoed through the corridor. Asha froze, and Daros faltered in his steps. He turned to her, his lips framing some kind of hasty explanation.

"Was that a ghost?" she whispered.

Daros looked both guilty and somewhat frightened - something she had never seen before. "It's probably nothing. Probably the wind. Don't worry."

Asha was about to argue that no wind she had ever heard made that sound, but decided against it, preferring to hasten after Daros to get out of the suddenly oppressive atmosphere of the old palace. After what seemed an age they came back into the courtyard garden which led to the little door into the servants quarters. As it was autumn the night sky was still darkened, but the noises from the servants quarters were, if anything, louder as more and more people came and left to perform their duties elsewhere.

Daros realised that time was against them, and they hurried onwards back to the room in which they had been locked in. Once Daros had unlocked the door and they were inside again, in the comforting darkness amongst a small incense stove and beaded cushions, Daros poured two glasses of wine. He passed one to her and took a deep draught of his own.

"I'll send you back soon," he said, still looking grim. His view of her had clearly changed somewhat. She felt a pang of disappointment. He had seemed so in love with her, and she with him. Had she ruined the only chance she might get? She took a sip of her wine, hardly tasting it.

He looked at her over the rim of the gold-flecked glass. Then he put it down and reached out a hand to stroke her cheek. "You are a strange girl,' he said softly 'Sometimes I wonder…"

She was about to ask what, but he took her glass and rang the silver bell that sat in every room to alert the eunuchs that concubine's appointment was over. After a moment the door behind her slid open and a eunuch stood in the gap, waiting patiently.

Daros put her glass beside his and leant towards her to kiss her. She accepted the kiss without any real affection. Then she stepped back into the corridor, his eyes still watching her as the brick wall closed between them.


	14. A Change of Career

Again Asha and Hamani heard nothing from Daros. No scroll arrived on the apartment table to tell her that she was required to see him. For a while she despaired, and while Hamani tried to keep her spirits up she could tell that her maid was also beginning to lose hope. After a brief spell of illness as a result of her depression, she decided not to worry. Whatever would happen now, it was out of her control, as she was still not being engaged to meet other guests, which allowed her to hope against hope that there might still be some chance that she would receive another message from Daros.

Bazan seemed to be in much demand however, just as Asha had been a bare few months before. Sharza took a scroll every two or three days to her mistress (for of course Bazan never roused herself to see whether she had received an order). Asha often took to reading poetry on a couch in the communal room, and would see Bazan stepping out in her fine silks and exquisite cosmetics, ready to attend to a guest. Sometimes Bazan would deign to notice her and say something to her.

'I'm being kept busy as you can see! It is very flattering to be so much in demand. But be happy that you are able to be so well rested!'

And Asha would unroll her scroll a little more and murmur 'We are both so fortunate to enjoy both our activity and our relaxation.'

And Bazan would be gone, shutting the door just sharply enough to dispel the tranquillity that Asha had been enjoying.

The weeks dragged on, and with a lack of anything else to do Asha began to look around for other things to occupy her time. Eventually she began to feel as if she had read every scroll in the Concubine's Library, and could quote some of the most famous poets and essayists on the Principles of Beauty, Symmetry and Elegance by heart. She continued to practice her dance and her mandolin, become ever more skilful at both, played chess against Hamani and watched Zahn grow into a lively young tomcat.

Her position as the Crown Prince's favoured concubine had endeared her to many of the eunuchs, and as they were all ever aware of which concubines were selected and which were not, they offered to let her help with the paperwork that had to be dealt with in every part of palace life. They could see that she was both highly literate and numerate, and felt that her skills would be helpful and would give her something to do. Every few days she was escorted to a set of rooms in the House of the Calligraphers where two older concubines, Marma and Zanit, sat at elegant desks with ornate inkwells and selections of fine quills.

The women, between forty and sixty, were extremely kind to Asha and were able to show her that dealing with the invoices and orders for food, silks, furniture and materials were far more than simple adding, multiplication and division. The concubines were also required to make approximate estimations of required amounts, take into account spoilage and waste and write letters negotiating prices and volumes. They were sent reports of harvests and production rates and up to the month decisions on tariffs and taxes levied on producers and merchants to help them make their decision. On one wall was spread a map of the Kingdom, from the desert wastes in the west to the _Khishanan _tribal lands in the east and all the lands in between. Asha would always stare at this map very carefully, memorising cities and geographical features as a welcome recognition of the outside world from which she was so often sheltered.

Marma and Zanit were of a completely generation than Asha, but they still chatted and gossiped as if they were young ladies - perhaps more than the younger concubines did. Marma had been a pretty, petite woman but was now running somewhat to plumpness, although she retained sparkling eyes and a pert, ever talkative mouth. Zanit had been a taller, more refined beauty, but age had taken a greater toll on her looks than Marma. Her eyes were still quick and alert, but the skin sagged at her neck and cheekbones, and was mottled with freckles and age spots scattered over her wrinkled arms and hands. Both women were alike in character, both laughing uproariously at their jokes and chatting quickly and effortlessly as they flicked through the scrolls that littered their desks.

'Who would have thought that so much cheese was consumed in the Cage?' said Marma thoughtfully one day, looking at an order for fine goat's cheeses from the Herd Lands to the north 'I would have thought that most women here would be terrified of anything that fatty!'

'Mmm,' Zanit interjected, her mouth watering 'I could just fancy some cheese now. The advantage of being a retired concubine is, my dear,' she said to Asha 'One can eat exactly what one likes without worrying about the consequences!'

'Perhaps they use all that cooling cheese to calm their raging tempers!' Asha replied 'Or perhaps to calm their monthly pains!'

'Or to use as a face mask!' cackled Marma.

Asha began to understand just how much produce and materials the Cage really required. She handled so many orders for so many things - fruit, vegetables, wine, meats, spice, textiles and clothes and furnishings. She found the reports of tariffs and taxes fascinating too, and began to calculate percentages and make estimates with as much as ease as she could quote poetry and play the mandolin. Learning also about the different areas of the Kingdom that produced all these things - the iron mines of Kharabdar, the coastal fisheries of the Arbshan Gulf and the orchards along the Twin Rivers. The trade networks that the Kingdom straddled from all directions meant that heavy taxes and tariffs could be levied on incoming merchants, but still they came bringing with them products from all over the barbarian lands - furs, ivory, precious woods and gems, jade, amber and ice.

'How do they bring the ice from so far north?' Asha asked them, confused as to how such a delicate material could stand being transported so far. Zanit pulled a scroll from a pile and pushed it towards her showing her some figures.

'They have specially built wagons to insulate the ice from the heat of the desert. Great blocks float in tanks of water and are pulled by oxen over the best roads to avoid the ice cracking and melting. If the ice is in bigger pieces it will take longer to melt,' said Marma in answer to Asha's actual question.

'But the problem is that the wagons are locked throughout the journey, to avoid exposure from the sun. So if something is wrong and the water starts evaporating and the ice melts away, no one will know until the wagons reach their destination for sale,' said Zanit, tapping the parchment 'Look at these spoilage rates.'

Asha inspected them carefully 'But surely you would know if a wagon wasn't fulfilling it's purpose. It would get lighter and the merchants would notice that the oxen weren't straining as much as they were previously. So surely these spoilage rates don't reflect the true amount?'

Marma winked at her 'Quick girl! Yes, when the wagons become inefficient it is often cheaper to dump them in the wasteland and buy new ones than to repair them. They are so cleverly built that it can be very expensive to diagnose a problem.'

'And there are different qualities of ice too,' Zanit said, taking out another scroll 'The cheapest stuff comes from our lands around the Inner Sea, where it's flecked with soil and melts more quickly. The purest ice comes right from the Northlands, where it is said it is pulled on sledges by dogs until it reaches a wagon post to be levered into a crate full of cold water. The incredible lengths to which merchants go to supply the whims of the Kingdom, eh?'

And Asha learnt about the measures by which other valuable goods were brought to their door. The hunting parties of tribesmen which roamed the grasslands for the skins of lions and leopards and wolves. Of the mines for gems and jade to the east that were as busy as the ones for iron and silver and gold in the Kingdom itself. The collections of fine statuary and textiles that were packed with straw, crate upon crate and carried on camels, mules and elephants.

Asha greatly enjoyed working with both the women, and never tired of what might be seen as a tiresome job - it allowed to her to exercise her skills in mathematics, economics and logic that had been so left to wither otherwise.

She enjoyed it so much that she did not even remember that she had not received a scroll demanding her presence in months. It was not until one evening in the middle of winter when the leaves of the trees in the central courtyard had dropped to leave the skeletal shape of the trunks and branches bare, that a scroll addressed to Asha appeared on the central table. Hamani brought it to her with some excitement, but Asha received it less happily. It might mean she would have to end her fascinating work in the House of the Calligraphers. It was not a commandment to meet with a client that evening - it was in fact an audience with the Royal Family the next day.

Asha was stunned, but had no time to express her surprise. Hamani whisked her off to plunge her in a quick bath and rub conditioning oils and creams into her hair and skin. She was given a quick meal of a light salad and a glass of orange nectar, and then sent straight to bed. She struggled to get to sleep however, because her questions continued to go unanswered and her thoughts were unconstrained by the answers she would have got. Eventually she did sleep, but fitfully, and then worried that signs of her sleeplessness would reveal themselves in the morning.

Hamani roused her the next day, pushing a plate of fine white toasted bread, ripe grapes (and a wedge of goats cheese!) towards her. Asha tried to eat carefully but could not resist gulping it down, nervousness rising in her bosom. Hamani ran another bath for her, while worrying about the time she had been allowed to choose Asha's robe, ribbons, accessories and hairstyle. A cosmetician was called immediately, and both she and Hamani worked simultaneously to beautify Asha further. Asha was dressed in a deep purple robe decorated in embroidered butterflies and lilies. Her hair was pinned into an elaborate tiered construction that sat on her crown like a peacock's feathers.

Three eunuchs came to lead her, at least, that is what one, his seniority demonstrated by the red buttons sewn onto his silk jacket, lead her. The other two held her train and moved in step behind, as perfectly in time as soldiers. Hamani was also beckoned forward and walked just behind the leading eunuch. Her confused glance at Asha told her that Hamani also didn't have the slightest clue what was happening.

They walked down to the courtyard below, and as they descended the concubines and their maids, covered in furs and robes lined with insulating wool thronged the loggias on all four levels, gawping outright at the vision of one of their number being led off by herself in grand state. She tried not to scan the loggias to see familiar faces - or at least, for a glimpse of an envious Bazan.

The great doors were swung open and the small procession carried on into the palace. They passed through the grand halls full of graceful columns and airy galleries, climbed precipitous staircases and through lamp-lit corridors deep within the building. Wherever they went, servants turned and stared at the somehow ceremonial procession that continued through the palace. Behind her serene face and flowing movements Asha's mind was ticking over as busily as clockwork. Why was she being shepherded to the Throne Room? Was there something she had done? Was she to be punished? Something struck her. What about Daros? Was he involved? Had their midnight travels been discovered and would they now be reprimanded?

Finally they reached the airy rooms that constituted the public rooms at the front of the palace, the anterooms and clerical offices that she remembered from the day when she arrived at the palace. She was being led towards the curtained Throne Room, where curtains were drawn back to allow them entrance, and she could see figures beyond. Another pair of curtains were drawn back, and there was the Royal Court.

The King and his Queen sat side by side on thrones directly in front of her, with the Royal Children sitting on divans to her left side. The most favoured of the court sat on the cushioned steps that lead up from the well that she had entered into, and in the galleries above, further men and women jostled for space.

Asha realised that none of them, not any of the courtiers, nor the Royal Children nor the Queen noticed her entrance. They were all gazing at the King.

He watched her.

He was the centre of the Kingdom. His every demand was met, his every wish was carried out. He was the most powerful man in the world.

The eunuchs and Hamani knelt before him, but Asha remained standing. It seemed right that she should, and there was no outcry. They might have been alone in the hall, the old man and the young woman looking into each other's eyes, unblinking.

Asha scrutinised him. She had not seen him for some years, and he had not aged well. His gut had expanded over his silken trousers, his beard and hair had become grey and his eyebrows had become shaggy and overgrown. His eyes were rheumy and his cheeks were patched with broken veins. She could tell that when he moved it would cause him some pain. The King was growing old.

The King cleared his throat.

'You are welcome, Asha Ghulgani.'

The spell seemed to break. Everyone else in the room swivelled to look at her. She could only look into the King's eyes.

'Please sit.'

Asha knelt gracefully.

The King considered her again. 'We have heard many good reports of you since you arrived here some nine years ago. What age are you now?'

'Twenty-one, your Majesty.'

'You have excelled at all the tests that have been set. You are a model of beauty, elegance and culture. You are a paragon of what a concubine should be - skilled at the arts of music, of literature, of dance - and of course, of love.'

'I thank you for your compliments, your Majesty.'

The King nodded.

'You have been recommended highly by your tutors and are a favourite of the court,' Asha coloured a little at this, but he went on 'You are the most skilled concubine in the Cage.'

Asha was silent, accepting the compliments once more.

'But it has been decided that it is time for a change of career.'

Asha's eyes flickered a little to Daros, sitting at the King's side.

'The Crown Prince Daros has been a regular visitor of yours this year, he tells me,' said the King lightly 'He is of an age to be married, and he has chosen you. Please approach the throne.'

Asha stood again and walked up the marble steps to the two thrones. She stood between the two, staring between the two of them. The Queen stared past her, while the King looked to his right and summoned his son forwards. Daros got up from his seated position with his brothers and sisters and walked slowly towards them both. All eyes were upon the three of them. Daros took up position in front of his father, beside Asha. There was a moment of silence.

The King, with a little bit of difficulty beckoned forth further members of the congregation, and Asha heard them kneel behind her - two women then.

'Unknown to you, your training for queenship had already begun,' said the King 'Has she been an attentive student?'

'Yes, your Majesty,' chorused two voices, but Asha had guessed that their owners would be Marma and Zanit.

'You possess all the qualities that a queen must have,' said the King to her 'Now, as you have done already, you must go on to develop and refine them. I have no doubt that that is what you will do.'

He moved forward with some difficulty, sliding on the seat of the throne to stand carefully on the marble floor. He took Daro's right hand in his own and Asha's left hand also and joined them together. He kissed them both on the forehead, one after another.

'For the glory of Ormazd, and for the continued wonder of the Parsi Empire, I proclaim you - betrothed.' He looked from one to the other, and then settled back onto the throne.

Asha and Daros turned to each other as the hall erupted into cheers and jubilations. They looked deep into each other's eyes and joined their other hands. Then they turned to walk down the steps towards the smiling eunuchs, Marma and Zanit, and Hamani. Hamani in particular was clapping along with everyone else, tears rolling down her cheeks. The roar in the hall should have been deafening, but Asha, holding Daros' hand lightly, did not take any notice. She could only concentrate on the warmth of his fingers and the steps that she was descending. She was to be Queen!


	15. The Chamber of Earthly Delights

**That night, in the Chamber of Earthly Delights, Asha sat looking at herself in a large silver mirror in the dressing room of the Chamber. The Chamber itself was comprised of a circular central room, from which there were four smaller rooms radiating off it - two dressing rooms, a bathhouse and an anteroom. There were no doors, only silk curtains separating all the rooms, so she could hear Daros splashing in the pools beyond. Her hair was no unpinned and lay sleekly down the back of her neck, spilling over a short belted sleeping robe of light cotton. **

**The dressing room had its own bathing pool behind a curtained screen, and freshly gathered water-lilies and palm flowers floated in its scented water. She was sitting at a simple make-up table, and behind was an elegant but plain cupboard for holding a few robes and other clothes. Candles were sat in decorated sconces, soft flickering light reflecting off the mosaic tiles of the walls and vaulted ceiling. **

**She didn't know how long she sat watching her reflection, but a movement at the curtains behind her made her turn around. Daros stood there, in a cotton tunic much like her robe. He extended a hand to her, and she moved out of her chair towards him. Hand in hand they crossed to the great bed, hung around with fine silk and gauze curtains. He was clearly about to lead her to the bed, but she stopped him. **

"**What is it?"**

"**I don't like this."**

**His brow creased.**

"**What don't you like?"**

"**The way we are doing this. It feels so formal and ritualised."**

"**There is some amount of ritual to this. You have been chosen as my queen. We are here in the Chamber of Earthly Delights. Protocol should be observed."**

"**Should. Not must."**

**He smiled at her. **

"**I'm afraid that we cannot leave and explore the palace again. You can see, we do not have any clothes to wear. And we have been shut in beyond even my abilities in lock-picking."**

"**Then we shall have to find other things to divert us."**

**His grinned widened.**

"**I rather thought that the point of the Chamber was to divert."**

"**I think we can draw it out a bit."**

**Asha shrugged off her cotton robe, and threw it on the floor. She stood naked in front of him, the soft lantern light gleaming on her body.**

"**I feel we should bath again. The water is still warm. We should enjoy it while it lasts."**

**He nodded, and allowed her to lead him to the bath, through the gauzy curtains to the tiled side of the pool. Daros too removed his shirt and left it upon a small chest by the archway. He laid down on his front on the reclining frame, a slatted bench for someone to lie upon so that another could apply scented massage oils to their back. Asha took one of the bottles from a shelf, which smelt strongly of almond and mint. She poured it into her hands and poured some into the dip in the small of his back. Straddling his thighs, she began to massage his skin, the back of his neck and his shoulders. Massage had been one of the many alternative arts that concubines had learned after graduating from the House of New Strings. **

**Her nimble fingers teased the broad muscles of his back, stroking his spine with her fingernails, sometimes gently; sometimes more roughly, almost scratching him. Her hair, damp with steam, began to drape over his skin as she worked her way downwards, dragging neat tracks in the oil she had just applied.**

"**When we are married, I shall enjoy doing this for you."**

"**When we are married, I shall enjoy doing the same for you," he murmured in reply.**

**She had reached his lower back, spreading the pool of oil out to his sides and down to his buttocks. She had never done this before, and doing it for the first time gave her a somewhat illicit thrill. She wondered why she hadn't; they were unmarked by spots like others she had seen, and as shapely and firm as older men's had been sagging and coarse. She played with the shining flesh of each cheek, and then slid her hand into the space between them…**

**He sat up suddenly, almost laughing, and slithered around onto his back. He caught hold of her by the wrist and drew her to him. His other hand slipped around her hips and placed his hand on the area where her hand had been searching on his body. **

"**Time for me to give **_**you **_**a massage!" he said happily.**

**She assented, smiling quietly, and lay down where he had been. She heard him picking up and opening the glass bottles, sniffing each in turn and picking a favourite at last - a scent of rose and saffron filled the air as he uncorked it. The oil was more delicate than the one she had used - less viscous and cooler on her skin, somehow. He was gentle, but less skilled than her of course. Halfway through rubbing her shoulders, he leaned forward and grasped her hair, lifting it from her neck. She frowned a little in irritation at the stickiness of the oil that coated her soft hair, then it was forgotten as his warm breath bloomed on the back of her neck and his lips kissed her skin. He continued to knead her skin with his hands while moving his lips over her neck, kissing her again and again. **

**Gradually, his hands stopped stroking her supple back and instead reached around to her breasts, massaging them instead. One eventually gripped her around the abdomen, the other stroked the space between her breasts. After a little while, she herself slide around onto her back and put her hands around his neck and kiss him as passionately as he had kissed her. By now they were so slippery that they were not surprised to fall gently from the reclining bench and slide to the edge of the pool. Asha's right leg dipped into the warm water, with Daros leaning across her and still kissing her. With a sudden wicked sense of caprice, she shoved him over the lip of the basin into the clear water. **

**The splash of his body made the water slop over the edge and pool on the tiled floor. He rose, coughing a bit but smiling, and pushed the water out of his eyes. He made a grab for her leg, but she withdrew it and slipped into the water herself. She dipped below the level of the water, for it was fully seven feet deep, but struggled up onto a shelf to one side that was two feet below the lip. Daros did not join her, but floated in the water on his back, sculling with his arms. **

"**Can't you swim?" he teased.**

"**Not really," she said, huddling on the shelf "I could just about keep my head above water, I imagine."**

"**I will teach you one day. Even a queen should learn to swim! Give me your hand." He sculled towards her, and took her right hand. **

"**Let's go beneath the surface. Take a deep breath."**

**She was nervous, but when he sank below the water, she followed him. She kept a tight hold of his hand, and tried to move her arms and legs rather than sink. The water was a deep green, and the lanterns from above cast eerie lights down onto the tiles, and the bodies of herself and her lover. He essayed a few gentle movements, first to the left and then to the right, trying to lead her.**

**She moved slowly and clumsily, but it was too much for her and she came up for air. He followed her and sat on the ledge with her as she got her breath back. **

"**I will teach you. One day we will swim together."**

**She smiled at him. Their brief dip in the baths had washed the oil from their bodies which began to collect on the surface in scented drifts and bubbles. Together they climbed out of the pool and used Daros' sleeping robe to dry themselves somewhat, the fine cotton helping to soak up the beads of water. Leaving it on the chest, they walked naked to the bed.**

**Here to there was a strange thrill from abandoning convention and sleeping without clothing. Strange that when they should be so naked they would be sleeping in the most glorious bedchamber in the world. They parted the curtains that surrounded the bed, and climbed onto the gigantic square frame. **

**Fat white candles sat on circular sconces on the four bedposts. Cushions in silk, muslin and taffeta. Smooth cotton sheets and a coverlet were thrown aside as Daros laid her down onto the mattress, and positioned himself on top of her. For some minutes they gazed into each other's eyes. Their hands, seemingly without noticing what they were doing, traced themselves across their bodies. Asha stroked Daros' finely muscled chest and abdomen, moving gently downwards towards his groin. He caressed her breasts and abdomen, both of them looking at each other with a mixture of curiosity and adoration, and of course, lust.**

**They kissed again, and made love long into the night.**


	16. The Queen's Story

The essential business of training to be a queen continued for Asha. She had only a brief time to bid farewell to her friends in the Cage, among which were the eunuchs and Marma and Zanit, and to thank all her tutors who had so well prepared her already for the task. As for the rest, the other concubines and tutors were invited to a ceremony in the courtyard of the Cage. All of them watched her, some with evident wonder and many with barely perceptible envy. She didn't care. She was leaving them all behind.

As her fellow Flower, Bazan was to lead the proceedings. Asha could certainly have wished for a friendlier send-off, but the sense of revenge was wonderful. Bazan performed the speech on behalf of the whole of the Cage with very appropriate compunction, but Asha could hear the hatred in her eyes and in the corners of her smiling mouth. Asha, for her part, behaved extremely regally. She hoped it would be the last Bazan and she would see of each other.

At the end of it, all the concubines bowed as one to her. As a mark of respect for them, she walked backwards out of the great door to the Cage. One of the last things she saw as the doors closed was Bazan's face, tight now with irritation, and no longer needing to demonstrate happiness at her fellow Flower's good fortune and accomplishment.

She continued to be schooled in the economics of the kingdom, and given maps and writings on the peoples that the Parsi governed. The drawings and sketches of the people gave her a male indication of the many colours and shapes of females that she had seen in the Cage. The _Khishanan_ tribesmen,with slitted eyes and high cheekbones and deep black hair. The _Ghalian _men, with deep soulful eyes and fine featured faces. White-skinned _Yartush _hunters with brown and blonde hair, and fierce eyes in colours of green and blue. She was told that she would be needed to intercede for the Daros in diplomatic matters, and she would always be present at court when delegations came to pay tribute to their master.

Joining the court was a new experience in itself, and her first public appearance after the official announcement of betrothal troubled her very much. She worried about the men she would see and perhaps recognise, and feared the reactions of the women who would surround her just as the other concubines and maids had done beforehand. Would they revere her as a soon-to-be royal princess, or would they secretly despise her for the manner in which she had reached her exalted position. But then, one of the pillars of the Court was the Cage. Due respect should be paid to her.

Furthermore, she gained further insight into the complexities of court politics. She had previously only seen how she could affect them, now she was party to the whole complicated web of alliances, enmities, partnerships and the influence of intrigue and rumour. She viewed it all from above, viewing the players of lords, ladies, eunuchs and concubines, but could only interact with it in very restricted ways.

She wished she could have continued to be schooled by Marma and Zanit, but their experience of economics and politics were limited compared to the teachers that could be found outside the Cage. New ones, versed in both those areas of expertise visited her, as well as those in history and protocol. Asha had known something of the history of the Parsi already, but the names of kings and generals, as well as famous politicians were unfamiliar to her, as well as the treaties and wars by which the _Parsi_ had increased their hold on the land.

An area which interested her further was the treaties surrounding the Ahura, the secretive mountain race of noble warriors and wise astronomers. How they had maintained their status essentially as an independent kingdom without being overrun by the Parsi was a mystery. She recalled the words of Lord Tarakam, that the Ahura's worth as fortune tellers and a strong guard post against the barbarians of the Northern Steppes, had allowed them the luck to remain a separate kingdom in all but name. They depended on the _Parsi _for trade, isolated as they were in the Northern Desert. The interaction between them and the King was one of strained politeness, and both sides felt mutual distaste towards the other. Among the papers were several sketches of the City of Light, by a small settlement in comparison to the capital, but filled with beautiful towers, arches and temples. A sketch of their palace, a basic construction of tiered towers connected by long passageways, seemed elegantly simple, but to see its foundations delicately balancing atop spires of rock, made Asha realise that it was a masterpiece of engineering. More than ever, she desired to see it in reality.

She met with the Queen once a week, in a cool, colonnaded garden surrounded by vegetation and with a simple splashing fountain in its centre. Asha was unsure why these meetings with her mother-in-law to be had been arranged – perhaps so that the Queen could pass on advice to her daughter-in-law, especially as she was to be Queen herself one day. Their maids were in attendance. Hamani sat by her side doing some sewing, while five of the Queen's own maids, including the one which had accompanied her from her own time in the Cage, sat around reading poetry or stoking up a small brazier which warmed the two women, for it was still early spring and the garden could be chilly on occasion.

The Queen reclined on a long chair made of precious wood and upholstered in bright tapestry. Asha had taken a wicker chair with some cushions for comfort and the maids sat on cushions scattered around the mosaic floor. Between them was the brazier and a delicate wooden table upon which was a jug filled with fruit nectar, and two long thin glasses for their refreshment.

Conversation between the two was limited at first to admiration for the blooms in the garden, to the fine taste of the nectar and for the clement weather that they had experienced. Asha had at first wondered what the Queen thought of her, whether she considered her a suitable consort for her son and worthy of carrying on the line. She was also forming an opinion of the Queen herself.

After the pleasantries that they had exchanged upon the weather and the garden, there was a pause. Finally the Queen asked her about her family, her parents, whether or not she had any siblings. Asha had not spoken about her family in years, and though she had often thought about them and written them letters, she could not talk about them without a deep sadness overcoming her. She did not cry however, as she was not sure whether this would engender sympathy or ill-temper in the Queen. She told her all she could, of the details she remembered from her childhood and the developments that she had read in their letters to her. The Queen seemed to be satisfied with all she heard, and often asked for clarification on a point or further detail from a story.

When Asha had finished, the Queen was silent again for a time, tapping her fingers against the delicate glass, looking somewhat distracted. Asha watched her face respectfully, then, guessing the reason for her disquiet, asked "Who were your family?"

The Queen looked at her a trifle sadly; interesting as she had expected that the question might have provoked outrage. She caressed her glass again, and then replaced it on the table.

"It is painful for me to talk about them," she said sadly "I have not seen any members of my family since I arrived in the palace."

"My father was a lord from Shanzah, a town on the coast of the Arbshan Gulf. He acted as a magistrate for the town, as many do, being governor and protector of the town. I was the eldest of my sisters to survive infancy, and our mother had died in childbirth."

"My father's name was Abkad Mishtan. He was a fine, tall man, with a great black beard and strong shoulders. He was well versed in all the manly arts – of archery, swordsmanship, wrestling and riding. He was also a fine public speaker, but cared little for literature or music, and especially politicising – this made him something of a liability in court, but perfect for service in governance of the provinces, and he served the previous King well. Shanzah was a rich town on the coast, filled with merchants and money-changers, with temples and bazaars surrounded by rich houses. My sisters and I and our servants would go out in a palanquin and look at the traders at their stalls with their wares from Ghalia and from across the Empty Desert."

"I was thirteen when the harem inspectors came to measure and interrogate me; to take account of my beauty and my accomplishments and assay them for their worth. I remember their cold hands and their callipers, measuring the length of my nose and the width of my nostrils; the distance between my cheekbones and the size of my ears. He stroked my hair to see how soft it was. He demanded that I dance and play a flute for him."

She paused, and smoothed a fold of her gown.

"Did you not find it terrifying, when they examined you, a young girl?"

Asha nodded slowly "It was an awful ordeal. But I was just ten."

"Poor child. Poor children."

Asha felt a shiver of trepidation. She had never discussed anything like this with another concubine – it was a shocking departure from decorum. Concubines did not deal with serious subjects, anything other than levity and small talk made them uncomfortable. She knew she had been lucky to be such a favourite of the eunuchs – for they spied on concubines who did not incur their favour, and reported any seditious voices within the Cage. She had talked about her family with Hamani, but Hamani, kind as she was, could not fully understand her.

The Queen had lived far longer with the burden than she had, and Asha was happy to have allowed the woman some comfort. The Queen took a small sip of her nectar, and Asha did the same. They were still speaking in calm, measured tones, but their hands betrayed the nervousness and excitement of sharing their stories. Their maids were also listening distractedly, aware also of the forbidden nature of their discussion.

The Queen cleared her throat "My father and I set off for the capital on horseback and with a train of donkeys carrying my luggage. I think perhaps that this is where out stories differ significantly. As I understand you, you have always lived in this city?"

Asha nodded again.

"It is some two hundred and fifty leagues from the Shanzah coast, and there are many wonders to be seen on the way. The road follows river valleys that run through the mountains to the sea, through lush farmland and woods, as well as high plateaux and cold deserts. In the month that the journey took, I saw but a small fraction of the wonders of our kingdom. The norias which feed the fields, that measure a thousand hand spans across. The lone castles on the peaks where men like my father rule the peasants below. The monasteries where you can hear dawn prayers as you set out for another day's journey. The colours of the stone as you pass, grey, red, orange and yellow in striped bands that undulate as you travel past them."

"I then discovered my passion for the world, and found a terrible sadness that this was my one chance to experience it. For in the future, I would never again be able to leave my cage in the palace. I have since read books about the other treasures of our Kingdom, and those abroad, even in barbarian lands. We pretend that there is nothing to know, but the few scrolls that describe them from the merchants and emissaries sent in all the directions of the compass tell of strange things."

"Of what did you read? What did you wish to see?"

"The skin tents and fur-clad people of the frozen north. The cities clad in marble, with temples and palaces almost as fine as our own. Statues so beautifully carved that they might spring to life as you look at them. And even stranger, buildings where the walls are made of paper, and the floor of woven mats of hay."

Nevertheless, we reached the capital without mishap and by that time, though I could see the city was beautiful and full of a million and one fascinating things, I no longer wished – and in truth I had never wished – to be a prisoner in the palace. I told my father this."

Asha held her breath. This was something she would never have dared put to her own father.

The Queen nodded imperceptibly "Yes. He was shocked. I think he knew my opinion – what father would not know? – but he had never expected me to voice it. I know that he felt great sadness at leaving me there, but there were three daughters left to him – and very rarely do daughters from the same family enter the Cage. Your father had no other children so I think his pain must have been a thousand times more unendurable."

"But I had my audience with the King and was lead to the Cage. I spent nine long years there. You know what it is that we must do. These girls," she gestured to the maids, who did not bat an eyelid "cannot understand. They do not understand the indignities that we suffer, but they are taught to encourage us to play the delicate game of the Cage. They goad us into action, but know little of our pain."

Asha felt Hamani stiffen at her side.

"But they are not to be blamed. They are in some ways victims as well. They are picked out much younger than we are, and while we may aspire to be the favoured consort of a king or prince, they will only ever be our servants. Suffice to say that my time in the Cage was not a happy one; full of unhappiness and disdain from my fellow concubines."

The Queen broke off for a moment and surveyed Asha from beneath her delicate lids.

"I think it is the strange ones that men are more interested in. The ones who think. The more intelligent and accomplished graduate to the House of the Beloveds in any case; but those who seem a little outside the crowd – I think those are the ones that men find the most interesting. The previous Queen was such a one, although she had none of the kinship I feel I have with you. She was a cold, bitter woman when I knew her. Those who still dream, who do not totally resign themselves to the Cage – those are the ones that gain the attention of the powerful."

"Of course, dreaming is not enough. We worked, in our way, to attain our position did we not? We spread rumour – at times, we lied. In addition to the sexual favours we bestowed on the lords that visited us, we committed various other sins. We lied and slandered, bought and sold men's lives and reputations to further our own. Somehow through all this sin, a man – the King, the Crown Prince – stopped and looked at us, noticed us in the shoal of bright, but brainless fish. They loved us for all our accomplishments, but also for a rare quality that no one else noticed."

"But I warn you; love is brief. My husband is not in good health – and it is the opinion of the court physicians that he may not live out the year. So it was with his father. We were married but two years before he died. From his coronation, my husband was no longer merely mine. He was the focus of the whole kingdom – as the proclamations go, the world turns on his command, the seas beat in time with his heart, he is the appointed ruler by the gods. All superstitious nonsense, but it is tradition."

"We produced a fine family; our surviving children are dear to both of us. But in recent years, we have become estranged from one another. Once we had shared a bed every night, gradually he began to sleep in different apartments – new ones were decorated and appropriated for my use. He began to sleep again with other concubines, something I had never thought possible when our first children were born."

"You must understand that as king, my son will have responsibilities beyond that of yourself or your family. He is responsible for a kingdom stretching a thousand leagues in every direction, for its defence and for devotions to the gods. Even as Queen, you will not be his equal. That is a woman's fate. That is our fate."

Asha looked into the Queen's eyes. She, all composure melted away by her story, had tears spilling down her cheeks.

"Not every promise can be kept," sobbed the Queen "Remember that. Men promise too quickly and too rashly – it is up to us to realise that their promises are empty."


	17. Unwelcome News

After hearing the Queen's story, Asha took some time to reflect upon it. She decided in the end that she would continue to speak up for the women of the Cage. She knew that Daros was a different man from his father, and if he were not so, then she would show him that her course of action was the right one. The Queen had said that they were the same women – in truth they were not. Asha knew she would not be so timid, and that she would keep her husband close to her – not only by bearing children, but by advising him in court as an equal, not as a subordinate.

Her training in that respect continued apace. She was present by Daros' side as the king received delegations, and she would eye the foreign ambassadors carefully, naming their origin silently in her head before they were announced. Their names were collections of strange syllables that she repeated them to herself in her head. She watched as they were presented to the King and Queen, and were then introduced to Daros and herself. She fancied this was a tacit acknowledgement that the King would not be fit to rule for much longer, and the ambassadors would not be ignorant of the new _Parsi _king.

Meanwhile, she now had the right to move around the palace as she wished, as well as the apartments that she and Daros shared. They now took meals together and spent most of their time together, when each was not learning statecraft. The companionship that they now shared did not sour the love they had felt before – if anything, knowing each other outside the strictures of their sporadic meetings over the past six months strengthened their adoration of each other. They read poetry and walked in the gardens, as well as playing with Zahn in their beautifully decorated apartments.

On introduction to Zahn, Daros and he had not taken to each other. Asha believed privately that Zahn was jealous at seeing another being take up so much of her affection. At first, he would hiss whenever Daros would come into a room and scamper off when Daros approached him. Daros thought that Asha spoiled the animal. But slowly, Zahn came to tolerate Daros' presence when he was nearby, and finally allowed himself to be stroked. And Daros came to enjoy the cat's pattering about the apartment as much as Asha did – and Asha was happy to have reconciled the two of them.

As the Crown Prince's consort, Asha was free to wander the palace when she was not with Daros – however, she was always accompanied by Hamani and two guards. She would visit the places she had seen with Daros, but by daylight they were, if possible, far more beautiful. She marvelled at the Courtyard of a Hundred Mirrored Skies, and was dazzled by the light that was reflected back from the sun. It was so bright that she could only look at it for a few minutes before the brightness overcame her, and she was ushered away. She was taken in a palanquin around the Royal Gardens whenever she wished, and when the sky was overcast she explored the state rooms of the palace. She now had access to the far larger Royal Library, full of texts on whatever she wished to study. Finally she could read about history, politics, economics and cartography to her heart's desire. She would have a slave take the scrolls that she wanted in a basket, and tag along behind her guards. Later in the apartments, over a bowl of fresh fruits and a glass of nectar, she would devour them.

She was also fascinated to meet Daros' brothers and sisters. His three sisters, aged between sixteen and nine, were fascinated by her. They had inherited their mother's good looks and intelligence, though they were a spoilt and vain collection of girls. The eldest was, strangely, the more shy; the middle one the most quarrelsome; and the youngest the most inquisitive. Daros' two brothers, twins of fourteen years, clearly tried to emulate their brother in his bearing, bravery and wit, but were less adept at their brother's attributes and could only mimic them as far as they were able. Daros and Asha would sit with them all and talk together. For the first fifteen minutes decorum ruled their interactions, and everyone was very polite and attentive; after such time had elapsed, the twins would begin to fidget, the younger sister to pull at Asha's robes asking questions. The middle sister would admonish her, while the eldest would hide her blushes with the sleeves of her gown and avoid conversation.

Asha was interested in them because she had never seen a family of brothers and sisters so close, and it pleased her to watch Daros, as the eldest, rule over his younger siblings with a tolerant air. He displayed a diplomatic streak that she had hitherto not marked in him, as he convinced his sister Rania to speak more to Asha; and the two girls exchanged some conversation about cosmetics, their maids and Rania's lessons. She also had learned to play the mandolin, and they talked together of technique, their favourite compositions and of the tutors who had schooled them in their music.

Of all his siblings, Asha found she disliked Fanhara, the middle sister, the most. The girl had a sharp face, all angles and cheekbones, and a temper to match. Asha recognised something in her that she had noticed in Bazan, a sort of sneering superiority that Fanhara used to bully her sisters and belittle her brothers. The twins ignored her most of the time, but she often managed to upset Rania and Daros would be called upon to adjudicate between the two when they squabbled. Fanhara was never quite able to reduce Rania to tears, but her second favourite target was the youngest, Safita; she could upset her quite easily, with somewhat explosive results.

Fanhara made something of a pretence of sisterhood with Asha, but she was in return rather cool with the princess. When she would offer and opinion, she would often ask Asha if she agreed, to which Asha quite often did not; something which was guaranteed to make Fanhara set her rather angular jaw in irritation. Daros noticed this, and mentioned it with amusement to Asha when they were ensconced again in their apartment.

"You and Fanhara do not see eye to eye I notice," he said to her one day while they were eating together.

"She reminds me of some of the girls in the Cage."

"You are not fond of her?"

"Are you?" Asha countered. Daros laughed.

"I agree that she is not an easy person to like."

"She positively exudes disdain, both for me and for the others! I prefer Rania and Safita, for all their faults."

"And what about my brothers, Nasim and Shobar?"

"They are pleasant enough, but they are too easily distracted. They are young men, after all. They will learn, I am sure."

He kissed her on the cheek.

"You sound quite fond of them all. Even when you talk about Fanhara, I think you have her interests at heart."

Asha pursed her lips critically "I assure you that our children will be better brought up!"

He kissed her again "Is that a promise?"

"It will be up to you to instruct your sons. I will see that our daughters grow up fit to be princesses."

Daros smiled again and kissed her, but there was an air about him that he had lost interest in the conversation. Asha too said no more about it, and they finished their dinner in thoughtful silence.

But however much she disapproved of Daros' brothers and sisters and their seemingly meaningless squabbles, she could not help but envy their simplistic outlook.

Life continued in this vein for some time. Asha continued to learn about court life and to receive guests – particularly the female retinues that foreign ambassadors occasionally brought with them to the court. These foreign women were of particular interest to her – the way they dressed, the gifts they brought and their outlandish accents fascinated her beyond belief.

She was receiving the women of a tribe from the mountains in the north-west when the news came. They had brought with them pots of aromatic gums tapped from the scraggy trees that grew on the mountain slopes and sheepskin rugs of wonderful softness. They wore voluminous robes in dyed wool, and heavy gold earrings and nose decorations. Admittedly, so much hanging finery made it difficult to hear them speak, especially with their heavily accented Parsi.

"What is your homeland like?" she was asking them as a messenger walked in and handed a piece of rolled up paper to Hamani.

The women looked at one another, as if seeking confirmation of how their home could be described to the woman betrothed to the Crown Prince. Finally one said "It is a land of many contrasts. In winter it is inhospitable – cold but dry, so that we must keep moving the flocks around the mountains to find isolated pools of water so that they may drink. But in spring, a few weeks from now, the slopes will be covered with flowering plants and green creeping moss. Then in summer, we spend the long days picking flowers and making their essence into perfumes and healing ointments. The flocks graze on the upland pastures and we celebrate the benevolence of the mountain gods by dancing in the day and singing by the fire at night."

Asha began to say how wonderful it all sounded, but was interrupted by Hamani. The scroll was passed to her, and as she read it her face became more and more strained. The women watched her curiously and in silence.

Finally Asha rolled the scroll up again and handed it back to her maid. "I'm afraid I will have to bring this meeting to a close. I really am very sorry, but I have received some very bad news. I apologise for my rudeness."

The woman who seemed to be the group's spokesperson said courteously "We hope that the news is not too painful, whatever it may be."

Asha gave them her thanks and excused herself from the salon where they had been talking. Out in the corridor she beckoned Hamani to give her the scroll again and re-read it quickly.

"My mother is very ill, Hamani. She may even be dying. I must go to her."

"Yes my lady." Hamani said dolefully in return.


	18. Returning Home

There was much that had to be done before Asha could leave, and she was impatient to see it done. They packed up some of the aromatic gums that their guests had brought and a few of the sheepskin rugs – for even though it was the end of winter, Asha wanted her mother to be warm.

Finally they were ready, and Asha bade goodbye to Daros outside the palace.

"I hope your mother recovers quickly," he murmured, kissing her softly on the forehead.

Asha said nothing to that, but her desire for her mother to recover was clear in her eyes. She and Hamani set off in a palanquin towards her old house in the Garden District, passing through the great central bazaars of the Merchant's Quarter and the majestic temples of the Imperial Square. Asha looked out of the curtained litter in wonder, seeing the swarms of artisans on the Temple of Ormazd who were redecorating the frontage of the building – hauling packs of mosaic tiles and carving the frontage into new and more beautiful shapes. Guiltily, Asha felt she wanted to stop and look properly at the new buildings and decorations of the city – to visit the markets and see what the traders were bringing in from all corners of the Kingdom, and even further afield.

Finally the bearers drew up in front of a house that Asha did not at first recognise. The walls were decorated richly with mosaics and porcelain tiles. The verandas on the first and second floors were built of a deep dark wood where vines crept up trellises and opened up beautiful blooms. This was in stark contrast with the somewhat shabby mansion that she had left years ago. Yet it was a silent house; there was no sound of work or joy. There was however, a low moaning from one of the upper floors. Asha glanced at Hamani sadly, and stepped down with the aid of one of her bearers from the litter.

She walked up to the mahogany doors and grasped the rope of the bell that hung to the right. She rang the bell three times, and put a hand up to still the clapper as she heard a sharp cry from the upstairs. There was a soft murmur from inside, and footsteps walked out onto the veranda to look down into the street.

After a few moments the doors opened and a servant peered out at her. Asha cleared her throat.

"I am Asha Ghulgani, returned to this house from the Palace of Caged Birds. They have told me my mother is dying – I have come to nurse her."

The servant stood back and allowed Asha and Hamani to enter the corridor to get to the central courtyard. Behind her, the bearers began to remove the gifts from a cart to bring them into the house. The courtyard had new geometric patterns in bright tiles than she remembered. There was nobody about, the servant had scurried back upstairs to her mother. Asha and Hamani stood alone in the centre of the courtyard.

An angular shape detached itself from the shade of the staircase in one corner of the courtyard. A cat, elderly and seemingly blind in one eye, limped painfully out into the sun to greet her visitors. Asha bent down, and recognised it as the cat she had cuddled when she left the house years ago. The creature yawned, stretched, and rubbed its head against her leg fondly. Asha bent to stroke the ragged fur and chucked it under the chin absently. It was so strange to see it as just skin and bone, rather than the beautiful animal that she had left behind.

"Asha?"

She looked up again at the staircase again. An old man stood there, leaning on a stick and hunched over with age. She looked into his face and walked towards him, leaving Hamani to pet the cat. He opened his arms and she embraced him, making sure she didn't hurt him.

"I wish that your return to us had been under happier circumstances," he whispered.

Asha said nothing to this, but kissed him on a wrinkled cheek.

"Would you like to see your mother?" he asked softly.

She nodded and he turned back to the spiral staircase, climbing painfully up with her following carefully, ready to steady him if he began to lose his balance. They made it up to the first floor and walked to the bedroom that she remembered that her parents had shared.

Women looked up at them as they opened the door. The room was shrouded in darkness, the shutters drawn over the windows. Wavering candlelight highlighted the bodies of the women through their robes, and shone on her mother's sweating skin. Servants moved back as Asha walked slowly to her mother's bedside. The woman was delirious, and she shook her head from side to side feverishly. Bottles of medicine and bowls of water sat on the bedside chest.

"Mother?" said Asha timidly.

But her mother didn't seem to hear her, and moaned loudly in pain. Asha realised that all the other women were looking at her. She decided that it would be better to appear pragmatic and practical than to seem childlike and dumbfounded.

"Father, come and discuss what can be done. Mother, I am so glad to see you. I shall come back in a little while and talk to you properly."

She laid her hand on where her mother's leg was hidden underneath the thick coverlet and then followed her father out of the room and along the balcony to his study. Here her mother's noises of anguish were muffled by the intervening rooms. She sat down on a familiar couch (though it was re-upholstered with a beautiful pattern of songbirds and lotus flowers). Her father sat opposite in a straight-backed rocking chair.

"You are no longer a little girl," he said to her.

"And you are now an old man."

He smiled thinly.

"What do the doctors say about mother's illness?"

He sighed "It is not a simple case. They believe it is a variant of marsh fever, but they also think that your leaving us altered the equilibrium of her mind."

Asha was silent.

"As I told you in my letters, I was sent to govern the Great Delta province. Beautiful though it is, in summer marsh fever is spread by biting insects. Your mother fell sick with it twice during my tenure there. Since we returned to the capital three years ago, she has been much weaker than previously," her father paused momentarily "Moreover, as you know, your mother has not been happy since you left us; neither of us have been. But I had the position of governor to keep me busy, and so I did not have to think of it all day, every day. But I fear the effect has been much more drastic on your mother."

"She had very little to distract her and I was often away or unavailable to comfort her properly. She delighted in very little, except to write to you and read your letters over and again. And when she was bed-ridden she used to dictate her letters to a scribe from her bed."

Asha nodded, remembering those particular letters. Her father leant forward and turned down the wick on the lantern a little, a thoughtful look on his face.

"We gained so much," he said quietly "You can see it from the house – we are wealthy and have many fine possessions – but neither of us have known true peace of mind since you were taken from us. We did not truly understand what it would mean to have you leave, and the reality has been difficult to bear. She has been sick for several months, but recently she took a turn for the worse. I omitted telling you in my letters – I thought she would recover and attend your wedding."

"She will recover! I will make sure of it."

Her father took her hand "My child, we have all learned that we are subject to the winds of fate. We are helpless."

"I am not. I shape my own destiny."

Her father gazed at her thoughtfully "Well, I am sure you will be able to ease her suffering now you are home."

"Bring your doctors here tomorrow to consult with me. I will oversee the care of my mother with Hamani. We will go and make offerings to the gods tomorrow morning, and then we will return to her bedside," she stood up "I will go and say goodnight to mother."

"Very well. I have ordered your old room be aired for you. I know you will be happy to see it again."

Asha assented quietly.

"Then I bid you goodnight my child. I am so happy to see you home."

Her father retired to his own room after kissing her goodnight. Asha found his touch unfamiliar – his dry cracked lips and withered grey beard feeling strange against her cheek. Then she went and looked n on her mother again, holding a hand to the woman's sweaty forehead and whispering goodnight to her.

Hamani met her outside and Asha led the way to her own room, pushing the door open with a loud creak.

Inside everything was much as she remembered. The wooden shutters painted with little flowers. The simple dressing table with the smooth ellipse of polished bronze that served as a mirror. The bed with the cotton sheets and quilts. The little votive shrine set in one wall, with statues of the gods and candles burning. Some of her chests had been placed here, and a sheepskin throw had been placed on the bed.

Hamani went to one of the chests and took out a sleeping mat and quilt. Asha took the sheepskin off the bed and gave it to her.

"Thank you, lady."

"And I thank you for being here with me Hamani. I need a good friend to help me this time."

"Of course my lady," Hamani said, unrolling the sleeping mat out on the wooden floor and placing a pillow at one end "Sit down at the dressing table and I'll help you dress for bed."

Asha did so and Hamani took out her earrings and placed her gold necklace carefully on the dressing table. Then she untied the ribbons in her hair and brushed the long soft hair down to the tips.

"Do you have a plan to help your mother?" Hamani murmured as she did her work.

Asha gazed at her blurry reflection in the bronze mirror "I am hoping that seeing me at home will help her recover. I shall sit at her bedside and calm her, sooth her, administer her medicine and try and get her to eat. Did you see how thin she was? They have not been feeding her correctly."

"Just don't expect miracles."

"We will go and make offerings at the Temple of Ormazd tomorrow. Then I will come back here and meet with my father's doctors."

Hamani said nothing else in the face of Asha's self assurance, and they said nothing more as they prepared to go to sleep. For a long time there was silence in the room, but the wind whistled through the shutters. Asha preferred that, because when the wind died down sometimes she could hear her mother in the other room, faint and indistinct but just on the edge of hearing so that she was kept awake by it.

About half an hour later, Hamani heard Asha sniffling, trying not to burst into tears. She shucked off her quilt and got into bed beside her mistress. She put an arm around Asha and stroked her hair to comfort her. Soon the two women were asleep, the one holding the other.

The next morning they were woken early as Asha had been instructed. They dressed in sombre, formal robes and pinned their hair in a sensible style. Asha went in to say good morning to her delirious mother before they departed for the temple. They brought with them a bearer with a yoke and baskets full of fresh fruit, flowers and glass bottles of wine. The two women walked on foot in front of the bearer with veils over their faces, and Asha delighted in watching the world around her. The sights of the bazaars and the merchants, the acrobats and musicians of the public plazas and the gaggles of students running with their wax tablets behind their strictly robed professors delighted her. The sheer vivacity of the city was wonderful, and she would not have traded her brief moment in the great pulsing river of city life for anything. But all too soon they arrived at the temple, still covered in workmen pulling up pallets of tiles and decorated pieces of stone. Asha ignored them as they shouted and scurried about, their bare chests gleaming in the sunshine.

Inside the echoing halls of the temple, they were met by priests who solemnly took the sacrifices from them and transported them to the altar rooms where they would be blessed and ordained to Ormazd. Privately, Asha had no doubt that the fruit and flowers would go to compost in the temple gardens, while the priests would take the wine home with them at the end of the day – but the symbolism of the sacrifice was the important thing. Asha and Hamani were shown to a private chapel while their bearer waited outside, and they prayed for good health and happiness to return to Asha's mother. Then they returned to the house to meet with the doctors.

There were three of them, an old man and his two students. Asha took a dislike to the elderly man immediately; he had dark beetling brows over pale, suspicious eyes and his mouth which twisted as he spoke to her and her father.

"Your mother has an untreatable strain of the marsh fever, my lady. In my professional opinion there is nothing to be done. Her delirium can only worsen her condition further. I am afraid that there is nothing to be done."

Asha looked at him coldly "I do not believe you think my mother is worthy of saving."

"My lady! Your mother is a high-born woman! It is my oath as a physician to aid the ill and the suffering!"

"And it is costing my father a fortune in silver for your inaction!"

"You are lucky, my lady, that your father does not spend his silver on a quack who would prescribe powdered frog's liver and scorpion oil to burn the fever out!"

Asha stared into the doctor's large eyes. There was a battle of wills here, and she was determined to win.

"If you have used not powdered frog's innards and other such creations, will you give me an account of what you have prescribed so far?"

He harrumphed but took a scroll that was proffered by one of his assistants "We first prescribed a tincture of willow and palm oil, as well as sulphur pills. The tincture seemed to sooth the fever but the sulphur did not have the desired effect. I then drained some blood from her right arm and tested it with heat to see that it had no foreign objects in it – her blood is fairly healthy for a woman her age and I could deduce nothing else from it. Finally I prescribed a purging ointment of wild garlic and other pungent herbs. Again, this had very little effect."

Asha took a deep breath.

"It is as well that you consider my mother as good as dead. I would not be surprised if your medicines have hastened her demise. Sulphur pills? Draining the blood? Thank the gods she has not died already through your negligence."

The doctor's eyebrows knitted together in anger.

"Evidently your medical knowledge far outweighs my own! I should be proud to be in the presence of such a master of medicine. Alas, I have no more time for you today. I have other patients to treat!" the doctor stood up and strode out of the room, his two assistants picking up his ledgers and hurrying after him. As the door close, Asha's father turned to look at her.

"I fear that was not wise, daughter. I know the pain you feel, but insulting a physician will not make you feel any better."

Asha bit her lip thoughtfully "As I said, I do not trust his prescriptions. Doctors like him prescribe just about anything so that the patient and their families think they are getting better. I mean, purging ointments? Sulphur? I think that mother needs bed rest, some proper feeding and less medical interference. And we'll start now."

Asha left her father and went to change into some plain robes that she could do work in. Then she came through to her mother's room and was told how she had been cared for thus far. She listened carefully and then gave her recommendations as to what should be done.

"My mother shall be fed twice a day on a mixture of milk and bread – this will help her recover her strength. There will be four women in attendance on her in the day and two in the night to give her as much rest as possible. We will burn sweet smelling ointments to drive the fever away, and give her water flavoured with fruit nectar to drink during the day. Other than this, there will be no medical intervention."

The servants, looking to Hamani for assurance, nodded in obedience. From then on, Asha worked as hard as any of the servants; she fed her mother with milk and bread, and wiped her mouth when the food fell out again. She changed the bed pans and cleaned her mother's legs when she soiled herself, as she was too weak to use a chamber pot. She stayed up through the nights when her mother was quieter, talking to her and reading her old letters aloud. Sometimes, when she glanced up from a page, she saw her mother lying still and watching her face, listening intently to her voice. When that happened, she would reached out and hold her mother's clammy hand and stare back into her eyes for a few moments, before returning to read. She hoped that her mother understood what she was trying to say.

She thought at first that it might have been her imagination, but gradually Asha could see that her mother grew stronger with every passing day. She started to eat more comfortably and could sit up unaided. Her speech was still affected, but sometimes her delirious moans sounded like words. One night, when Asha and her mother were alone in the room together, Asha heard her name being said, softly and slightly slurred. She looked up from the letter she was reading, and saw her mother mouthing her name again "Asha. Asha." There were tears filling up in her mother's eyes. And Asha had smiled in return and wiped away the poor tear-stained face, and kissed her mother on the forehead, before returning to read.

But on the other hand, so much physical activity and long hours took their toll on Asha herself. Occasionally she would fall asleep at the same time as her mother in the night, and wake up as the other women would come in the morning. She stopped sleeping during the times she had allotted to herself, so desperate was she to oversee her mother's care. Her father would offer to take her out in a palanquin to the Garden District to see the public menageries and water fountains, but the one time that she accepted she got so worried about her mother's health that they ended up turning around just ten minutes after leaving.

All in all however, she had good hopes of her mother's recovery. One evening when she was struggling to keep awake, she glanced up from the page that she was reading from and saw her mother leaning back against the pillows, breathing gently. She looked more restful than she had in weeks, and her brow was clear of sweat. She placed the letters down beside her chair and relaxed against the cushions, watching her mother lazily through half closed lids. Slowly, she drifted off to sleep.

Asha woke with the light of dawn shining through the shutters, striping the coverlet and her robes with pale bands of grey. The candles had gone out, and a big moth was bumping frantically against one of the shutters, seeking a way out. Asha rubbed her eyes sleepily and got out of her chair. She folded back one of the shutters and coaxed the insect out, hearing the morning sounds of the city outside. She hesitated and followed the insect out onto the balcony, and watched it flutter off into the sky.

She waited for a minute or two, and then stepped back inside and drew the shutter again to keep out the cold morning air. Her mother was still sleeping where she had left her, propped up against the pillows.

Asleep? No. Asha stepped forwards tremulously and took her mother's hand in hers. It was icy cold. Her fingers travelled across the palm and around the wrist, and there was no pulse.


	19. The Funeral at Dusk

Asha sat in her mourning robes in her father's study. She had the red veil thrown back over her face, and gazed down at her hands that were folded in her lap. It had been a long day of busy activity, laying out her mother ready for the embalmers and purifying the house. She had set to every task with a will, not wanting just to sit and think. Now it was early evening, and the pain of having to do nothing was destroying her.

She had spent the day cleaning the family idols and in the wash-house cleaning all the sheets and the mourning robes in the house. She hadn't spoken beyond giving and taking instruction in what was to be done. Now, she was going to be forced to speak to her father. And it wasn't that she didn't want to speak to him. She just didn't wish to speak about what had happened.

The door opened and her father came in quietly, his stick tapping on the wooden floor as he shuffled in and took his seat. She could hear his laboured breathing as he reached over and slid the cane into the rack next to the stove. Then he sat back and looked at her.

She was aware of his gaze on her, but didn't meet it. She felt that in some way he was about to blame her, that all his conciliatoriness that had accompanied her throughout her taking care of her mother had melted away with her mother's death. She had no evidence that this would be the case; it was an instinctual feeling. He was still watching her, and the anger and sadness that was roiling inside her could hardly be stilled.

Again he leaned forward, and she wondered for a moment if he needed to do this every time he spoke to someone; perhaps he was going deaf? His tongue flicked over his dry lips nervously.

"A long time ago I asked you to tell me what you were feeling. I know now that I should have asked you that far more; I should have asked your mother that question as well. Will you tell me how you feel now?"

Asha took a shaky breath in and out and then looked up at him. She wanted to be able to move her chair forward so she could link her hands with his, but shifting her chair would be difficult and unwieldy. She swallowed and looked up at him.

"I feel robbed, once again. I miss the person she was last night and the person she was eight years ago. And I feel that if I could have stayed, she might not have been the person she was when she died"

Her father bowed his head "I feel that too. I imagine that her condition was indeed adversely affected by your absence, and I think that she was recovering."

"_So why did she die?"_

Asha was surprised by the violence in her voice, but looked up fiercely at her father without drawing back. She looked at the webbing of lines around his eyes and across his cheeks, and was, for a moment, disgusted. Why were her feelings only subject to examination when he wanted to examine them? Why should she be expected to pour her heart out to him, the man who had given her away eight years ago? Almost as soon as she thought it, she paused. It wasn't fair to him. It wasn't fair to either of them.

"I can't tell you why she died. The gods saw fit to end her suffering. But she knew that you were home, and I think she was happy."

"I hope so," Asha whispered.

Her father nodded solemnly.

"What about the funeral? When will that be?"

"In three days. I have sent a message to the palace, informing them that you won't be back until then."

"That is rather soon isn't it? I remember my grandfather's funeral took place some weeks after his death; why isn't this the same?"

Her father looked uncomfortable.

"I am unwilling to keep you away from the palace for too long. I am sure that the patience of the King has been tested; he has been extremely generous to us already. This is in view of the exalted position that you enjoy."

"So my mother will be given an unsatisfactory burial…because her illness demanded that I return to her? Why did we not just wait for her to die, give her a lavish funeral and saved all my heartache!"

He sighed at her bitter tone "What would you like me to say? What would you like me to do? We are neither of us free to do make our own futures."

"That is just an excuse! Men are always able to use women for their own ends. Which do you fear more, his majesty's displeasure, or the thought of being unable to influence court policy for the little time you have left?"

"Asha-" he father began sternly, but she interrupted him. "Admit it! You are not thinking of Mother or myself. You are only concerned with what is politic, with what is expected! I am sick to death of it – our family, Daros, the whole be-damned palace! Why can't anyone ever act with their hearts and not with their heads!"

"Because the world doesn't work like that," her father said stiffly "The world doesn't work according to hearts. Do you think that the Crown Prince wants to marry you simply because he loves you, or because you will make a fitting Queen? Do you think I married your mother because of love, or because she made a good match? Love doesn't outside fairytales and myths!"

"So everyone keeps telling me!" Asha roared, half out of her mind with anger "You, my maid, the eunuchs, even the Queen herself! But if there's no room for love, what's the _point_ of anything! Why do we go through life just furthering ambitions and sacrificing ourselves? Why can't we act like people rather than machines, endlessly planning and calculating the path that will benefit us most? Why can't we just _be?_"

"That's enough!" her father snapped "You may be betrothed to the Crown Prince but you are still under my roof! Until you are married, I am your parent and you are my daughter. Control yourself, please!"

Asha glared at him and stayed in her chair, folding her arms defiantly. Her father's lip curled in irritation, got to his feet slowly and hobbled out of the room carefully. Asha heard his bedroom door shutting sharply, and she sat for some minutes in the dying light of the fire from the ornamental stove. Finally she damped down the fire, closed the shutters, blew out the candles and made her way to her own room. Hamani was already asleep on her mat, a thick sheepskin spread out over her. Asha undressed in the dark, folding her mourning robes carefully and sliding underneath the covers and lay back on the pillows. Her mind still burned with anger, but she was starting to feel sorry for what she had said. She glared into the darkness, determined not to let recrimination replace her rage. In a few days her mother would be buried and she would be returned to the palace, ready to be Daros' wife.

She caressed the palm of one hand thoughtfully. It was raw, dry and the skin was flaking. Her hands, so unused to work had reacted badly to the soapy water while doing the laundry and beating them dry. Working all day, from a bare half hour after she discovered her mother's death to late in the evening; no time to think, no time to speak, no time to cry. No wonder she had reacted so violently. She realised suddenly that she was no longer angry, merely reflective. She yawned suddenly; the fatigue of the day was beginning to catch up with her. There would be time enough to be angry in the morning. And with that thought, she drifted off to sleep.

Asha tried to avoid her father over the next few days, cleaning the votive objects of the family shrine until they shone and helping with any household tasks that she could. She was embarrassed but still very angry, and decided she would not speak to him again until after the funeral. She felt it would be better that way, and indeed, he did not seem anxious to speak to her. Hamani and the other servants noted the chilly atmosphere and wisely decided not to intrude on the quarrel.

A few days seemed to pass to quickly, and Asha spent little time in thinking or doing anything by herself – there was just too much to do. If she did have a moment to herself she went up to the roof garden at the top of the house, and watered the plants in their neat pots and planters while looking out over the city. Sometimes the cat would join her and lie stiffly in the shade of the potted palm tree while she busied herself with the water jug.

On the third day at sunset, the bier carrying her mother's embalmed body turned up at the door, ready to be taken out to the necropolis. There were several carts for Asha, her father and the servants waiting behind the bier and drawn by mules. All within the house were ready, and they got into the carts and were driven off towards the western gate of the city. As it was evening, there were few people around, but those who were on the streets stopped and watched the procession. Some made the customary hand sign to ward off bad luck, while others bowed to Asha and her father as a sign of respect for them and their dead.

This was how most funerals were conducted; in private, at night and with few participants other than immediate family. They would go to a family mausoleum and, presided over by the caretakers of the necropolis, inter their dead. However, Asha's mother was by rights deserving of a full funeral procession, with priests, musicians and mourners following in a noisy cacophony of sorrow during the day. Asha tried to bite back the bitterness that she felt; it was not an appropriate emotion now.

The guards waved them through the gate with hardly a glance, and once through they were met by twelve of the necropolis caretakers in their shanty village just outside the gates. The caretakers, wiry men with their clothes covered in the grey dust of the desert, held clubs and fire brands to ward off any bandits or practitioners of the occult arts and witchcraft – for such people were known to wait for prey in the necropolis. The caretakers fell into step alongside the bier and the carts, striding along the road that was flanked by the statues of sphinx, shedu and other guardian beasts. Ahead of them, dimly visible in the darkness were the cliffs where the royal tombs were carved out of the rock. Watchtowers with fires on top were tiny points of light ranged along the length of the cliffs.

After about ten minutes at their measured, respectful place, the carts drew up next to their family mausoleum. The bier attendants got down from their seats, and lifted the flower-covered stretcher upon which Asha's mother lay. Asha's father got down from the cart, and leaning on her arm, went towards the doors of the tomb with a large iron key. He unlocked it, and the caretakers pushed back the doors so that the bier could be carried in.

The mausoleum was cold and dark, and Asha stood beside her father shivering in her diaphanous robes as the torches were lit and the servants filed in behind them. A sarcophagus had already been set up at once end of the chamber and the bier was reverentially placed inside. Incense was lit from the torches and placed in the holders around the columns of the room. Her father moved forward to the sarcophagus, placed a scroll of prayers for the dead inside and stood back.

Everyone in the room knelt in front of the sarcophagus as her father started to say a prayer. "Ormazd, look kindly on this woman, wife and mother. She has born much without complaint and stood steadfastly with me without turning away. She has loved our daughter for all of her life, and her love was returned with her daughter's care in the last weeks of her illness. Her morality was without equal, and her kindness was eternal. Show her the same kindness now."

After a moment of silence, Asha took a bunch of fresh flowers – lotus, lily and roses – and placed this also in the sarcophagus. She stepped back again and they all put their hands to their faces as part of the mourning ritual. Asha could still smell the flowers on her hands.

The caretakers then stepped forward and lowered the lid of the sarcophagus, making ready to seal it with pitch and wax. Meanwhile, everyone trouped out of the tomb and the torches were snuffed out, the caretakers themselves filed outside and the door was locked again. The whole ceremony had taken less than fifteen minutes.

It was a silent group that returned to the gates of the city. Her father thanked the caretakers and received the key to the tomb. The procession of carts trundled back along the streets of the city to the house, where the servants hurried inside to warm the rooms and light the lanterns. Asha helped her father into the courtyard of the house, and they stood together while the scents of jasmine wafted down to them from the balconies and the roof garden.

"You said a beautiful prayer for her." Asha said quietly.

"Every word of it was true."

"I know it was."

Her father turned around stiffly and embraced her.

"I'm sorry we fought earlier."

"So am I." Asha whispered, hugging him back.

"Come, let us go to my study and we will toast your mother with some wine."

Asha smiled and kissed her father on the cheek, following him closely up the stairs to the warmth and light of the study.


	20. Leaving Home to Return to Love

Jey guys, sorry for the long wait for this update. It's been a difficult chapter to write a) because university has been hectic this semester and b) I'm getting closer to a big turning point in the story that I just wanted to get to and write about. But as I didn't want to rush this chapter, it's taken a while to be satisfied with it. Hopefully I can get to the really meaty part of the plot and update a lot more regularly! All my thanks for your continued readership and patience!

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Asha returned to the palace the next morning. A palanquin drawn by four sturdy bearers arrived at the door just a few hours after dawn, ready to convey her back; her luggage would be sent on later. In many ways, she felt as if she was reliving her first journey to the palace, in her first moments of being a Caged Bird.

Of course, it was so very different now.

She and her father said their goodbyes there and then at the door, the cat watching them lazily as it sat in a pool of sunlight in the courtyard. Under the watchful eye of the bearers, they made it quick. A simple farewell from both of them, an embrace and a kiss on the forehead from her father (although Asha had to lean down so that this could be achieved).

The weather was, not unusually, hot. Now that the year was well into the spring months, the flowers and trees in the public gardens were in bloom, with the fragrances of the plants wafting through the warm air. Equally as expected was the hustle and bustle of the marketplaces – the people of the city didn't seem ever to miss an opportunity to sell something to someone. But Asha did not, for once, draw back the curtains of the palanquin to watch the activity. Instead she fanned herself to ward off the stifling heat, and ate a bowl of dates that had been thoughtfully provided, even if they were rapidly drying out.

When they returned to the palace, Daros was standing among the guards on the main steps waiting for her. She descended elegantly, and walked up to meet him.

"How kind of you to meet me, your Majesty," she said formally, as she had to. They were not married yet, and even afterwards, their relations in public would always be bound by protocol.

"I am glad to see you return," he said softly "The King was deeply moved by your mother's plight. He hopes she did not suffer too much."

"I can only hope that my return to her soothed her pain," Asha said "Her funeral was a great comfort to us."

Daros nodded and turned back to go up the stairs. Asha came after him, with Hamani following at her right a step or two behind. They walked slowly up the steps and into the series of airy reception halls. Finely dressed lords of the council were scattered around the halls, talking in pairs or groups; they glanced at them, bowed at Daros and stared after Asha and her pretty maid. Thankfully, Asha saw no-one that she recognised.

They halted outside the approach to the throne room, and Daros whispered to her "The King would like to welcome you back to the palace, and offer his condolences."

Asha nodded, and they waited in silence until the petitioners that had come ahead of them had been ushered out of the king's presence. Two blue-robed retainers came forward and led them through the tiled hall, pulling the curtains out of the way so that the small procession could approach the throne.

Asha thought the king was not looking well. His face was pale, and his eyes bloodshot, his stomach was protruding further than ever, and he shifted uncomfortably as he sat. When he spoke, his voice was cracked and breathy.

"We welcome you back us, my dear. All the palace has been desolate with the news of your mother. I regret to say that I did not meet her personally, but all of us know her reputation as a woman of breeding, dignity and service."

_Service to what?_ Asha thought. _What a hideous way to describe my mother's life._

"Suffice to say, we hope that she went to her rest peacefully. We have offered our condolences to your father."

Inwardly, Asha sneered. But she said "I thank your Majesty for your sympathies. I apologise for having been away from the palace for these past weeks."

"You did everything a good daughter should; no one could have done any more. Nevertheless, it is right that you have returned so promptly to sit at the side of my eldest son. Now, I'm sure that you would both like to get re-acquainted."

Asha bowed low to the king, and he waved a veined hand. Daros and Asha bowed again and walked carefully backwards until a hanging dropped, obscuring the king from their view. They turned and walked together through the palace, and Daros slipped an arm around Asha's waist. Walking comfortably side by side, she waited until they were back in their apartments to broach her question.

"The king is not well, is he?"

Daros looked sidelong at her as he poured wine into two goblets. "No. The doctors are concerned about his heart – too much good food and wine they say."

Asha accepted the goblet from him. "What is their prognosis?"

He sighed. "Officially, I shouldn't know, and I shouldn't be telling anyone else. But…two, three months perhaps, no longer than that until…well, you understand. My father called to his side last week to tell me this."

"How is he…I mean, is he afraid?"

"I think any man would be afraid in facing death. But I know that he has confidence in me. I just wish I had confidence in myself."

Asha took his hand and kissed it. "Do not worry. Your father is wise to trust you. He is fortunate to have such a capable heir."

He smiled "And I am lucky to have found a capable queen." He handed her a goblet. "A toast to your mother's memory."

Asha had a lump in her throat as she accepted the goblet; she swallowed painfully. "And to your father's health."

They drank deeply. Zahn came trotting through a door to welcome Asha home, and she put down the goblet and picked him up. She stroked his soft fur absently. Seeming to realise that her heart was not in it, he struggled and she put him down; watching with a smile as he leapt up onto a divan and looked at her plaintively.

"He is happy to see you home," whispered Daros, putting his hand on her shoulder "You're so tense! Perhaps we shall call for a musician to come and entertain us. Would you like that?"

Asha felt suddenly very tired. "I'm sorry; I'm so lethargic just now. And I still have a lot to think about."

Daros put a hand to her head. "You don't feel ill, do you? You may have caught a chill in the necropolis…"

"Maybe. I think I just need to rest."

He brushed her cheek. "Go and rest then," he said softly "Maybe this evening we can take a walk in the gardens."

She smiled a little "Yes that would be wonderful. Thank you Daros."

She patted Zahn on the head and walked to the bedroom, shutting the door quietly. She changed into a simple cotton shift and got into bed. It was strange. She didn't feel tired exactly; just that she should lie down and be still for a time. So much had happened in the last few weeks, and she had thought so much about her short life.

It seemed that she'd only been in bed a minute or so, but the next thing she knew the door opened and Daros stepped through, followed by a servant carrying a tray with bowls of fruit and goblets of sweet water on it. Daros sat on the bed next to her, and picked up a pomegranate and a knife, slicing it in half and offered one half to her. The servant gave them both cotton napkins and withdrew. Asha scooped the flesh of the pomegranate out and ate it in her hand greedily.

"Did you have a good rest?" Daros asked, chuckling at the mess of red juice and pips around her mouth.

Asha nodded, although she still felt exhausted.

"Once we've finished we'll go to the gardens. The spring flowers are quite beautiful."

"Do you think so?"

"This is what I'm told by my mother," he laughed "Personally, I have little patience for flowers."

Asha picked up a pear and chewed it reflectively. "I wish we could go out into the gardens at night. I wish we could explore the palace like that again. To think that it was only a few months ago that we did that. It all seems so different now."

Daros laughed a little "Yes. We must behave respectably now. No more midnight jaunts. No more exploring the ruins of the ancient palaces. We must behave according to our new roles."

"I wish that we did not have to."

He sighed. "Do you feel any better? Do you feel up to a little evening's walk?"

Asha licked her fingers and then rubbed at her face with the napkin. "Certainly; I should like to enjoy the beautiful spring blooms!"

"You're making fun of me." Daros said solemnly.

"Not at all. I believe you too will come to enjoy them as much as I plan to."

She got dressed, while Daros tickled Zahn behind the ears and finished off his water. Then they left their apartment and walked off through the palace together. Soon they arrived, Asha was slightly disappointed to see, at the Walled Gardens, full of orderly beds and closely clipped trees with peacocks and pheasants making their stately way through the orchards. After about half an hour of looking at the flowers, they stopped by one of the ornamental ponds, where goldfish and carp swam dreamily in the clear water. They sat on a marble bench and listened to the songbirds singing sleepily in the fruit trees.

"Tomorrow you will return to your studies, and I to mine." Daros commented after a little while.

A thought struck Asha "What is it you are being taught?"

"Politics, economics and other such things; when I was young I thought all there was to kingship was a strong sword-arm and a commanding voice. Now I know very differently. I need to learn about our allies, our vassals and our enemies. Now that the Kingdom is at its greatest ever extent, it is very difficult to wage wars. Fortunately we have enjoyed a time of almost unprecedented peace of late. The _Khishanan_ tribes have been pacified, and the nomads of the Empty Desert bought off. I have no illusions of military grandeur, nor any notions of extending our rule across the world."

"But you can fight? With a sword?"

"Of course! And with bow, and spear; on horseback and on foot. My training has been very comprehensive."

"I wish I could fight."

"Why would you need to fight?" he laughed "Better to leave fighting to men."

Asha said nothing.

"You've been a little taciturn all day. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. It has been so strange, seeing my mother so ill and my father so frail…But I truly am sorry. I should think no more of these sad events."

He bit his lip. "It is not my place to limit your grieving or tell you how you should feel. It is your own affair."

"I feel…I feel that there is so much that I regret not being able to do anymore. I regret not being at home through the remainder of my childhood. I regret not being able to explore the palace in secret with you in the night…"

"But surely it could be said that your life follows a trajectory that continues to improve. Yes, you were taken from your home and sent into honourable servitude here, but then we met. We explored the palace by night and the qualities I found in you made me choose you as my future queen. And although you find your existence stifling now and your mother dead, soon you will be the queen of the mightiest empire in the world, and have a place in history as the queen of a great king of the _Parsi_!"

"You are right," Asha said woodenly, though in her heart she was not sure. She pulled her scarf around her shoulders "It's getting colder. Perhaps we should go inside."

"Let's go then." Daros took her hand and took her back inside the Palace.


End file.
